Argentium
by A Silver Cloud's Lullaby
Summary: When Haymitch Abernathy was announced to represent Disctrict Twelve for the Second Quarter Quell, Effie wasn't sure she would ever find her breath again. Hayffie.
1. Argentium: Effie

**Well! I've been absent from fanfiction for a while!**

**Anyway, this is my first Hunger Games fic. And, of course, the first thing I write is Hayffie since I'm SUCH a fangirl. Ironically enough, I've only read one Hayffie fic... So since this is my first, I'm rusty. I tried to keep them as in character as possible since we only get glimpses through Katniss's biased opinion. I hope I did these two wonderful characters justice! Enjoy!**

**UPDATE (6/18/12): I have a playlist for this section if you're wondering what music I have playing in my head during certain scenes. I have a link on my tumblr. :) Will post Haymitch's soon!**

* * *

_Title: Argentium  
Summary: A look at the hidden moments between Effie and Haymitch throughout their career.  
Rating: T for language  
Pairings: Hayffie  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

* * *

Effie Trinket was fourteen years old during the Second Quarter Quell. Her parents had raved to her about the excitement of the First Quarter Quell. Nothing had been more thrilling than seeing the Districts pick their own Tributes for the Hunger Games. Surely, if those Tributes were who the Districts believed to be celebrity material, then there must be something in them worthy of Capitol standards. Even the lowly District Twelve had someone spectacular. Nelson Greeves had made it the farthest since Twelve's first and only winner in the Tenth Annual Hunger Games by coming into the top five. No one had come that close since. Her parents tell her the Quarter Quell was the most exciting of all previous Games, and in their biased opinion, in the Games that followed.

So when the year of the Second Quarter Quell at last approached, Effie was a fluttering ball of excitement. It was normal for her to bounce off the walls, but as the days of the Selection drew near, she found she couldn't sit still for a mere moment. Also, a week after the Selection would be her fifteenth birthday. That meant she would finally be old enough to start Alterations if she wanted! _And_ that was the day the Hunger Games would officially start. Could she ask for a more exciting birthday? She knew her friends were jealous. After all, how many of them could say that their birthday fell on the day of the Hunger Games? Not only that, but how many of them would find their birthdays on a _Quarter Quell_? Effie didn't think her life could get any better.

* * *

When the final male Tribute for District Twelve was Selected, Effie wasn't sure she would ever find her breath again.

* * *

"So who are you all betting on to be the Victor this year?" Effie's best friend, Chloris, asked. Still fresh from her first Alteration three months prior, her lime green hair and matching lime green eyes were bright enough to glow in the dark. She was the first of their group, currently eating lunch in their school's cafeteria and discussing the remaining sixteen Tributes, to get an Alteration. Effie signed up for hers and was due for an appointment within the month.

"Definitely that Ronan boy from Four. Did you see how massive he was? I bet he could pop that little thirteen-year-old's eyes out of their sockets with one squeeze of his right hand!" Creon, Chloris' older brother, interjected with a clenched fist.

Effie cringed. While she loved the Games (because, really, who didn't?), she didn't always love the gore. She could appreciate a bloodbath as much as the next spectator, but there were times when it was a bit much. It was one of her deepest secrets. What would everyone think if they knew how her stomach heaved at the sight of an organ, or how she had to grit her teeth at the sound of a bone crunch?

"Ronan? Yeah, right! Now did you see that girl from Nine? Semolina? She's fierce! I bet she'd easily decapitate Ronan with that scythe!"

"Whatever, Chloris." Diana couldn't resist the opportunity to tease her friend. "You're just mad that Ronan killed off that hunk from District One that you've been drooling over since the Selection." Diana simply laughed at Chloris's green glare. Diana turned to Effie. "What about you? Who's your favorite Tribute this year?"

Effie grinned as she thought of those dark curls. She felt a slight blush crawl up her neck. "Definitely Haymitch!" She beamed with pride. Surely her friends would agree with a resounding, _yes_.

She was instead met with a group stare of incredulity. Her smile fell.

Diana shook her head. "Are you serious? _Haymitch_?"

Chloris was equally disgusted. "Why would you root for a Tribute from Twelve?"

"His training score wasn't even close to impressive," Creon said with a roll of his eyes.

Effie furrowed her brows in confusion. "But he made it past the initial bloodbath. And he said he's smarter than the other Tributes."

Creon scoffed. "I highly doubt that. He looks as dumb as the rest of those stupid coalminers who come from that useless District."

Effie couldn't disagree more. She saw nothing but arrogant intelligence in those beautiful silver eyes. She believed he could beat every one of those remaining Tributes. But, for once, she kept these things to herself. If her friends couldn't see how amazing he was, then he didn't deserve to have such silly people for his fans anyway. She'd support him enough for all of them.

Chloris made a noise of disgust. "And he's not even cute!"

_You're right about that_, Effie silently relented. _He's beautiful_.

* * *

Effie's excitement grew as Haymitch continued to persevere throughout the Games. It was down to the final ten, and he was still going strong. Her friends thought of him as boring because all he would ever do was walk towards the cliff. Effie didn't care. She loved watching those long legs stride across the arena's vibrant and luscious landscape, those strong arms swinging in rhythm to his footsteps, his right one flexing as he gripped his knife.

Her excitement took a plummet when he was attacked by the Career pack.

Effie had seen fifteen Hunger Games in her life, but she only recalls twelve. And in those twelve, she has had attachments to Tributes before. More often than not, the ones she would root for would be among the losers. She's felt intense sadness when her favorites would die. She even cried for some of them. Five years ago she had been so sad that her girl from District One had lost (and she was so close to being the Victor) that she cried herself to sleep every night for a week straight.

But this was the first time in her life she had ever been _afraid_ for one of her Tributes. Distraught, yes—complete and utter devastation. But _nothing_ could compare to the absolute terror she felt when she caught the glint of Ronan's sword. She had to bite on her fist in order to keep from screaming. Creon laughed at her while Haymitch struggled with Ronan.

Haymitch dodged Ronan and slit his fellow District Four male Tribute's throat before he could even think of attacking. The District Two female cut him in the arm. Effie clutched her own arm, gasping for air, as if she could feel every ounce of pain Haymitch was feeling. If his heart stopped, she was sure hers would as well.

Effie had never felt more gratitude towards another human being than she had for Maysilee when she saved Haymitch's life. She didn't care that Maysilee was beautiful, or that the two remaining Tributes from Twelve would be in close contact with each other now that they were allies. For now, Maysilee was keeping Haymitch safe. That was all that mattered to Effie.

* * *

"How can you love Haymitch so much?" Chloris demanded when he and Maysilee broke the alliance. "He's such a jerk!"

Not even five minutes after she uttered that phrase, a piercing scream filled Chloris and Creon's top-of-the-line speakers. Diana clutched her newly Altered elf ears. Maysilee had been speared through the neck by these strange looking pink birds.

Haymitch burst through the trees shouting his former ally's name. The somber look in his eyes said he knew that he was too late. That didn't stop him from holding Maysilee's hand while she died. Neither Effie nor any of her friends could remember such a display of support and affection for a fellow District Tribute.

That's _why I love Haymitch_, Effie thought.

* * *

The day of Haymitch's award ceremony, Effie at last got her Alteration. She dyed her hair silver. Not grey, but silver. The color of steel. The color of his eyes.

* * *

When the Selection came for Fifty-First Annual Hunger Games, Haymitch's first Games as a mentor, Effie decided she was going to become a Games escort, just so she could meet Haymitch Abernathy.

* * *

Effie got her District Assignment on the day of her high school graduation. She wouldn't begin her official duties as an escort for another two years. But once she got her assignment, she would spend those two years learning from the previous escort about the mentors, government officials, and separate politics of her designated District.

Chloris, Creon, and Diana gave words and noises of sympathy when she received her letter assigning her to District Twelve. On the inside, Effie was cheering. On the outside, she expressed the same disgust as her friends. After all, who'd want to be assigned a District notorious for its failure in the Games and a mentor that had taken to alcoholism within the last three years?

Effie would. Of course, she didn't plan to stay. She had a career to think about. But she knew that District Twelve wouldn't be nearly as bad as her friends believed. It was barbaric, yes, but it had Haymitch. She'd sacrifice a few years of comfort for him, even if he was now a mean drunk. Effie knew she could change him. He just needed to learn a few manners. He _had_ grown up in a barbaric District—he wasn't as privileged as she was, being raised in the Capitol. She would teach him. She was sure he'd appreciate it.

* * *

On her first day as an escort, Effie was a ball of nerves. The Selection wasn't until the next month, but Effie needed these few weeks to get familiar with the District. While she learned all she needed from the escort before her, "nothing was the same as hands-on learning," Grant had said. Effie secretly wondered if Grant merely wanted to hand her off a month early so that he would no longer have to deal with the "coal mining Neanderthals."

She smoothed out her forest green pant suit and straightened her matching wig. She kept her silver hair underneath the green wig. After her first Alteration, she couldn't bear to change the color of her hair. So instead, she settled for wigs. Besides, what kind of Capitol citizen would she be if she didn't indulge in the fabulous colored creations that spewed forth from the company for which Chloris was now an employee? That was the reason for all of this green Effie was modeling. Chloris had made it special for Effie's first day on the job, to remind her that her "best friend was always with her, even in the face of tragedy." And to Chloris, District Twelve was indeed a tragedy.

Effie saw Haymitch walk through the doors of the Justice Building, supported around the shoulders by the recently appointed Mayor Undersee. He must already be drunk. But even drunk, Effie felt her breath hitch in her throat. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes were askew, as if he had just gotten out of bed. Even so, he still looked beautiful—in a haggard sort of way.

"Hello, hello, hello!" she greeted when they were in front of her, hoping her smile didn't look as nervous as she felt. She stuck out her hand to shake Haymitch's. "I'm Effie Trinket, the new escort for District Twelve."

Haymitch looked from her hand to her face, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "New escort, eh?" He shook it. Even when he wasn't sober, it was evident he was twenty-two and strong. His calloused hand felt comfortable and warm in her pampered, manicured hand. "You know, you're kinda pretty?"

Effie thought her heart might burst through her chest. "You think so, Mr. Abernathy?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "Sure…for a piece of broccoli."

Effie started. "I…What?"

Haymitch laughed. "Really, Ellie, what shrub did you steal _that_ from?" He poked her green wig, laughing all the more.

Effie wasn't sure how to respond. No one in the Capitol had likened her fashion sense to a vegetable. She was still confused as Mayor Undersee muttered an apology and half-dragged, half-carried the staggering Victor away from the mortified escort. The apologetic mayor mentioned something about getting another official to attend to her. When they were gone, the only thing she could say was a small, "My name is Effie."

* * *

Effie primped herself in front of the mirror in the hall of the Justice Building. This was her first Hunger Games as an escort. She wanted to look perfect. She smiled at her reflection. "It's a big, big, big day!" She flicked away a straggling piece of green mascara from her cheek when she saw Haymitch standing behind her through the mirror. He was looking at her incredulously. He smiled mockingly when she made eye contact.

"The green look again?" he all but sneered.

Effie blinked. This was the first interaction they had since their awkward first meeting. She had written him off as drunk and, therefore, not responsible for his actions. She only hoped that was the case this time. She'd hate to think that the man who gives her butterflies only thinks of her as produce. "Yes, Mr. Abernathy, the green outfit. Is there something wrong with it?"

Haymitch took a swig from his bottle—she hadn't noticed it—and laughed. "Seriously, Ellie? You look like an asparagus."

"I thought it was broccoli," she muttered under her breath.

He heard her anyway. "Nah," he said, tugging her green wig. It fell to one side. Effie screeched and rushed to fix it as he snickered into his drink. "Asparagus suits you more."

Effie huffed as she continued to properly place her wig. "Are you kidding around with me, Haymitch?" she asked in an effort to understand his odd behavior.

He smirked. "I never play with my food, sweetheart." He laughed and took another swig from his bottle, walking out the door to the stage outside in the Square.

* * *

Effie tried to have normal conversation with Haymitch, she really did. She couldn't believe that the intelligent, gorgeous man who had won the Second Quarter Quell could possibly be this lecherous…lecherous...she couldn't even think of a proper name for him.

She tried to be polite. She tried to be reasonable. But it was so hard when she felt her heart breaking with each snide comment he made and each bottle he downed. Maybe he simply didn't know it was impolite to drink so much outside of a Capitol social gathering?

* * *

Her third year as an escort, Effie finally gained the courage to request that no alcohol be on the train to the Capitol. For once, Haymitch would be sober. He would actually mentor these Tributes. They needed all the help they could get this year. They were both young—thirteen and fourteen. And it was high time he learned some manners!

She dropped the young Tributes in their respective cars, chattering happily all the while. She always liked when people talked to her when she was nervous—it helped her forget her anxiety. And these two certainly looked nervous. She thought the boy would start shaking hard enough to cause a seizure. They must be camera shy. Effie was certain they'd come out of their stage fright after a few lessons with her. After all, they were going to the Hunger Games! They were celebrities now! Those nerves would pass in time.

She heard commotion as soon as she dropped off the boy and made her way to the dining cart. When the doors opened, she gasped in astonishment.

_What happened?_

The cart was a mess. Chairs were toppled over, food was everywhere, and Haymitch was in the middle of it all in a blind panic, overturning tables and swearing loudly.

"What on earth is going on here?" Effie shouted. It looked as if a tornado blew through here! He certainly had a long way to go in the ways of proper etiquette. Effie was going to have her hands full.

Haymitch whirled around, eyes crazy and panicked. "You!" he growled, pointing a bleeding finger in her direction. He must have cut it with the glass he broke on the table he turned. "Where are my drinks?"

Effie crossed her arms. "There are none. I specifically requested that there be no alcohol on this train."

"You. Did. What?" Haymitch was shaking. Whether it was from rage or withdrawal, Effie wasn't sure. Nevertheless, she refused to back down.

"I banned the alcohol. It's about time—" In a flash, Effie felt herself pushed against the wall of the cart. Haymitch was inches away from her face, fury written all over his. His left arm was holding her in place, his right arm holding his knife in front of her eyes, blade tilted towards the ceiling.

"You get me my drinks _now_, Ellie, or I swear…" He trailed off, leaving his threat to her imagination.

Effie was terrified. She knew what this man could do—she paid special attention to his Games, after all. But she had been taught to never let a man intimidate her, and she wasn't about to start now. She swallowed until she could find her voice. "No." She winced at the waver. "You need to be sober for these Tributes. They've a terrible case of stage fright, and being drunk—"

Haymitch began laughing. The harsh sound made her cringe. "You think these kids are terrified because they have _stage fright_?" He let go of her, shaking his head. "Geez, woman, you really are an idiot."

Effie pursed her lips together, heart beating a million miles per hour. "Don't you dare insult me, Mr. Abernathy! I've about had it with your poor etiquette! Half of the reason I hid those disgusting drinks were for you to learn some proper manners!" She took a deep breath. "Now, I know you haven't been raised in the most established surroundings, but I'm willing to offer my assistance if you just—"

Haymitch swore. "You think I care about your stupid Capitol _manners_?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Get me my drinks. Or you'll regret it."

Effie put her hands on her hips. "I will not! You will be sober this year, and you will like it!"

Haymitch punched the wall next to her face. "Dammit, Ellie!" He walked away, kicking various debris.

Her nostrils flared. "My name is _Effie_, Haymitch! _Effie_! Not Ellie, Effie!" She just barely resisted stamping her foot like a child.

He turned to look at her, halfway out the door. "Yeah, well, you know what, Effie?" He flipped his middle finger. "'Eff you!" With that, he walked out the cart.

Effie wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at his childish statement. She chose to call for an Avox to clean up the cart instead.

* * *

That night was the first night Effie witnessed Haymitch's nightmares. He was screaming bloody murder, slashing around at hidden demons inside of his bedroom cart. He almost killed the Avox who attempted to wake him up.

Effie made sure that the alcohol was replenished at the first stop.

* * *

Effie sighed when both of the young Tributes were killed within the first twenty minutes at the Cornucopia. "Those poor dears," she said under her breath.

Haymitch snorted into his bottle. "Try not to get any of your fake tears on the monitor, sweetheart."

Effie glared at him. "I mean it, Haymitch." She gestured towards the screen that showed both fallen Tributes, mangled and bloody. "I've never seen any two Tributes with such a bad state of stage fright. I could have helped one of them if they had become Victors. I would help them gain confidence. That stage fright is probably what got them killed in the first place. They knew there were cameras in the arena, and they didn't know how to fight with millions of people watching."

Haymitch looked at her as if she had sprouted three horns on top of her red wig. Although, in the Capitol, that may not be entirely implausible. "What is wrong with you, woman? You really think those kids were afraid of a few cameras?"

Effie looked down her nose at him. "Well, honestly, Haymitch. Why else would they afraid?"

He gaped at her. His gaze turned fierce. "That's it," he growled. He roughly grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her along with him. She yelled and hurled insults at him as he dragged her through Headquarters, and finally, out on the sidewalk and into an alley. He let her go with a shove. She was about to lecture him about what he could have done to her outfit, but he silenced her with a glare. "I've had it with your superior attitude." He said in a harsh whisper. It was clear he didn't want this to be picked up by too many passersby. "It's bad enough that you Capitol citizens watch these Games for pure entertainment, but to not even attempt to understand the trauma these kids go through is disgusting on too many levels."

Effie had never seen Haymitch so serious. "What on earth are you talking about?"

He threw his hands up. "They're fighting for their lives, Effie! Their _lives_!"

Effie frowned, trying to bury the spark of elation she felt at the sound of her real name coming from his lips. "They are fighting for the _Capitol_. It is an honor to be representing Panem in such a fashion."

"You call children murdering other children an honor?" It was obviously taking a lot of self-control for him to keep his voice low.

She glared. "These Tributes have the opportunity—"

"They're children, Effie! Say it with me. _Children_." Haymitch shook his head. "They'll never get to grow up. They'll die before they get to taste adulthood. Most of them can't even _dream_ of becoming an adult because _your_ precious Capitol could take their lives away in a blink." Effie flinched. "That little boy from District Twelve won't even get to truly be a teenager. Most of them will never get the chance to fall in love, get married, raise a family. But who would want to raise a family when their _children_ could be stripped from them?"

Effie took a deep, shaking breath. "That may be, Haymitch. But the sacrifice of patriotism was never said to be small."

Haymitch's face hardened. "You really are stupid." He raised a hand to stop her protests. "Fine. If you can't see it that way, think of another. Do _you_ have any younger siblings?"

Effie crossed her arms, sore from the jab at her intellect. It didn't matter how smart this man thought he was, she was _not_ stupid. "Yes. I have a younger brother whom I love more than anything."

Haymitch sneered. "Imagine that. Fine, then. When we get back in the spectator lounge find a Tribute to represent your brother. Maybe then you'll get a taste of what it's like to have someone you love taken from you and knowing there's nothing you can do to stop it."

* * *

Effie couldn't stop the tears and the scream of pain that tore through her as she watched the Tribute that represented her brother drown by the hands of a District Eleven Tribute.

"Hope your eyes have finally opened, sweetheart."

Effie couldn't look at Haymitch. She didn't completely share his disdain for the Hunger Games. It was how she was raised, and she couldn't turn her back on her parents' teaching. But she thinks she may understand Haymitch's desire for alcohol a little more.

* * *

Effie let out a shrill scream as the knife with which she was _trying_ to cut her broiled steak slipped and cut her polished gold thumb. She gasped horrified at the blood gushing from her finger. Tears sprung in her eyes as she searched for a napkin to staunch the wound. Suddenly a napkin magically appeared under her nose. She took it, immediately applying pressure to her thumb. She looked up to see a smirking Haymitch who was pouring himself a glass of wine as he took a seat next to her. He was already sufficiently drunk. _I suppose he just needed something more refined this time_, Effie thought bitterly.

"So," he drawled, "she bleeds." Effie narrowed her eyes, making his smirk stretch into a withering smile. "I'm surprised. I would have thought bleeding impossible. Maybe you're not a heartless robot like the other Capitol idiots. You just might be human. You actually bleed."

"Yes, Haymitch," Effie spat. "I bleed. Of course, I'm human! Just like you." Effie gave him an obvious once-over with her eyes. "Although you could barely classify as human most of the time. When _you_ bleed, do you bleed alcohol?"

His eyes flashed, but the smile stayed in place. "If I did, you can bet I'd drink it."

Effie nearly gagged. "You're disgusting, Haymitch."

He laughed. "Likewise, sweetheart."

"Only someone as revolting as you would think of drinking his own blood in the hopes of getting drunk."

Haymitch smiled again, but this one was malicious. He raised his wine glass to her in a toast. "Well, at least I don't drink the blood of children like your dear President."

Effie didn't have a response to that.

* * *

"You look like a banana."

"You smell like the inside of a trash incinerator."

"Touché, sweetheart."

* * *

The Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games were the roughest for Haymitch. There was a blonde, blue-eyed Tribute from District Six named Melody who looked an awful lot like Maysilee.

That was the first time Effie had seen Haymitch go through an entire Games sober. Sure, he'd been tipsy here and there, but he was never drunk out of his mind. He was always sober enough to be aware of the girl's status. He cared more about her than his two Tributes (one of them died at the Cornucopia, the other died of thirst).

Effie said not one word. What could she say? It's not like she watched much of the Games anyway. She was too busy watching that handsome, expressionless face. Besides, if she didn't watch, it would take her mind off the disturbing lesson Haymitch taught her two years prior.

The arena was frightfully simple. It was nothing more than a maze of mirrors. If you were in the right corner, you could see your enemy Tributes. But which of the twenty reflections was the _real_ Tribute? If they didn't die from starvation and thirst, they would go mad, smashing the mirrors in hopes of actually killing the Tribute. Some died from blood loss by their own hands.

In the end it came down to Melody and another girl from District Three. The final battle lasted three hours. It was mostly chasing and smashing mirrors when, finally, Melody caught Three from behind, shoving her into an already broken mirror. She fell into the shards, blood oozing from her hands and face when she got up to face Melody. They struggled and wrestled for an hour when Three kicked the tiring Melody in the gut, forcing her on her knees. Three pushed her to the ground and pinned her. While Melody tried to scratch at Three's bleeding eyes, Three took a shard of glass and slit Melody's throat. There was at last a Victor, sitting on top of a dead Melody, blood gushing from her corpse, reflected in ten surrounding mirrors.

Effie snapped her attention to Haymitch when he made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat. He made eye contact with her for a moment. She said nothing, only stared into those haunted, grey eyes. He pushed back his chair and walked out of the spectator lounge in a trance. When the door shut, Effie let the tears fall.

* * *

Haymitch took three bottles of hard liquor into his room. For once, Effie didn't scold him. She would give him this one night of debauchery. She couldn't even imagine what he had been through. He drank himself into a coma.

* * *

At three in the morning, Effie woke up to the sound of screaming. She knew it was Haymitch. Not even the alcohol could quench the nightmares tonight. She tried to turn over and block out his cries. It was futile. These weren't the angry screams of his last nightmare. These were frightened, desperate screams. Screams that tore at her very core, withering her soul. She didn't know she ran to his room until she flung open his door.

He was thrashing in his bed, sweating profusely. He had tears and snot smearing his face, hair absolutely drenched. He was sobbing, screaming, crying out his former ally's name.

Effie felt her own sobs begin to wrack her body. Nobody should have to endure this kind of pain, no matter how mean they were. She raced to his side and tried to shake him awake. "Haymitch, wake up! Please, wake up! It's just a nightmare! Haymitch, _get up_!"

Haymitch woke up with a choking gasp. "Haym—" He pulled Effie down onto the bed and gripped her tightly, crying hysterically.

Effie felt a blush rise in her cheeks as he practically molded himself into her. If he were sober, he'd kill her for being this close. He reeked of liquor and sweat, but she couldn't bring herself to care. He was no longer a drunken man, but a terrified and broken child. Effie wrapped her arms around him as best she could in their horizontal position. "Sh, Haymitch. I'm right here." She rubbed her chilled hands over his flaming, bare back, forcing herself not to think about the way his muscles shivered under her touch.

He continued to cry, each gasp forcing the tears out of her own eyes. She didn't know how long they stayed like that, but when his sobs reduced to whimpering snivels, she pulled back slightly. She cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. Even smeared with various fluids, Effie was floored by how beautiful he was. His tortured silver eyes searched her blue ones, desperate to find solace. She didn't know how aware he was of his surroundings at the moment, but she decided it didn't matter.

She wiped underneath his eyes with her thumb, not once letting her gaze leave his. "Hey," she whispered. "It's over now." She knew it wasn't. It would never be over for Haymitch. "I'm right here." She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his. "I'm right here."

Haymitch let out a gust of breath. She fought a grimace at the smell of hard liquor. She didn't know if it was a sigh or tearless sob. He slid his face to the crook of her neck, his dark stubble slightly scratching her nose and her cheek. She couldn't stop the goosebumps of pleasure from erupting over her skin.

"Maysilee," he muttered into her loose, silver hair. "I couldn't save her. Maysilee!" He murmured this over and over again, a twisted mantra.

Effie nuzzled into the crook of his neck, going back to rubbing her hands along his back in soothing circles. He gripped her tightly in response, fist clenched around the fabric of her night dress, continuing his tormented phrase. They stayed like that until they both fell asleep.

* * *

As sad as the situation was, Effie knew that she wanted nothing more than to stay by Haymitch's side the rest of his life to fight off these horrendous night terrors—to be the one to help him through his pain and soothe him at night. This was the night she fell completely in love with Haymitch Abernathy.

* * *

An Avox found them the next morning still wrapped around one another. Confused, he aroused Effie, knowing she would be the safer choice. She blearily opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. She froze when she saw the Avox assessing her with a raised eyebrow.

Effie looked down and bit her lip. She could only imagine what was going through the criminal's mind. She gently tried to disentangle herself from Haymitch's grip. He only tightened his hold and nuzzled his nose deeper into her neck, his breath coming out hot, a whisper of a word she couldn't quite identify. She felt her eyes roll to the back of her skull, and she bit her lip harder. She was so glad that the person who found her in this completely inappropriate position couldn't mumble a single word.

She tried again to remove herself from Haymitch's bed. She had much more success this time around. She pushed her hair back, smoothed her wrinkled night dress, and cleared her throat, trying to maintain some shred of dignity. The Avox looked at her understandingly.

Effie nodded to the Avox and walked towards her own bedroom, head held high.

No one spoke of that night again.

* * *

The weeks that followed are what prompted Effie to start a schedule. They already had a designated schedule given that Effie followed, but it still left free time. Those moments of free time were when Haymitch would guzzle down the hardest liquor he could find. He'd always been a heavy drinker, but ever since Melody, Haymitch went overboard. He was passed out most of the day, vomiting at night. Effie knew that if she didn't intervene, Haymitch would either drown himself in his liquor (or his vomit) or he would have liver problems even earlier than they suspected.

Effie carefully designed a tight-knit schedule that gave Haymitch limited drinking time, and gave her limited time to be alone with him. She followed this schedule obsessively, because if she didn't, she was positive something awful would happen to Haymitch. He called her Obsessive-Compulsive. She didn't care—this small bit of order in a train of chaos kept her sane.

* * *

"You are the most insufferable, despicable, inconsiderate, vile, worthless excuse of a man I have ever met in my entire life!"

"Sheesh. And you nag _me_ about manners?"

* * *

Contrary to what Haymitch believed, Effie truly wasn't stupid. She knew she was in love with a man who would never glance in her direction. She knew it was useless to go on pining after him. So when Perseus Oliveryne, a handsome Junior Gamemaker of thirty-five, asked her to dance at the Victor's Celebration Party, she accepted eagerly. Just because Haymitch would never see her as more than an annoyance didn't mean she couldn't flirt and have fun.

* * *

Effie kicked off her heels and sat in the luxuriously cushioned sofa in the District Twelve penthouse. She made sure not to wrinkle her expensive gown Chloris designed for her. It was a deep purple and accentuated every curve Effie possessed. It was the first night in a while that she felt beautiful. She supposed she had Chloris and Perseus to thank for that. She heaved a sigh of contentment and laid her head against the back of the sofa. If she wasn't afraid of ruining this dress, she would sleep here.

"Someone had a fun night," drawled a familiar, slightly slurred voice.

Effie felt her heart lurch. She turned her head to look at Haymitch. He was leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a wine glass filled with a liquid so red it was almost black. His dark blue shirt was tucked out of his pants, sleeves rolled up, and tie discarded along with his shoes somewhere in the building. His top three buttons were undone, revealing a little tuft of chest hair.

Effie tore her eyes away, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling. She hummed in response. "I hardly had more than two glasses, Haymitch."

He scoffed. "I wasn't talking about the drinks, lightweight. More like the company you shared."

Effie grinned to herself. "Perseus _is_ quite the charmer." She stretched her arms over her head and let out a yawn. "I haven't had so much fun in a long, long, long time!"

Haymitch took a drink of his wine and licked his tips to catch the excess liquid left behind. "I didn't know that shameless flirting with Junior Gamemakers was your style, Trinket."

Something about his tone made Effie level her gaze at him. He was staring at her with an unreadable expression. Why did he sound like he was accusing her of something? "I'm almost thirty, Haymitch. I think I can 'flirt' with a man without it being labeled a scandal."

Haymitch shrugged one shoulder. "If you say so." He took another drink.

She narrowed her eyes in defense. "Is it really so hard to believe that I may want an enjoyable night with a man once in a while?" _Or with you_?

He smirked condescendingly. "Maybe?"

Effie wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was the limited amount of alcohol she consumed, maybe it was her frustration that she couldn't have this man in front of her, maybe it was simply her ego. Whatever it was, something inside of Effie snapped. She jumped up and put her hands on her hips. "I've about had it with you, Haymitch. I was having a harmless night of fun—something I haven't experienced in quite some time—and you go around mocking me for it, acting as if I'm not capable of such things! I have needs too, you know." She blushed when Haymitch's smirk grew, and he quirked an eyebrow. She hadn't meant for it to come out like that. "Just because you're too drunk and…and…_mean_ to properly woo a woman doesn't mean that I have to stick to myself like a hermit!"

Haymitch frowned. "There are no women worth my time here to woo, especially if they're anything like you."

Effie felt her face grow blank, her insides frozen. "What's that supposed to mean?" She didn't think her voice could go down to that octave.

Something unidentifiable flashed through Haymitch's eyes. "All of you Capitol women are the same. All you care about is a conquest—who can you sleep with to get to the very top? Do you think Perseus didn't know that?" Another drink.

Effie swallowed thickly. "Sex wasn't on my agenda, Haymitch."

His face was stone. "Regardless, do you think he even cared about what your name was? Like I said, you're all the same. Even to someone as important and 'high class' as him."

"Why are you saying this?"

His gaze shifted to the side, his head tilting slightly upward. "Think of it as a friendly reminder. If he doesn't care about your name, he doesn't care about you."

Effie shook her head. She refused to believe that a man in Perseus's rank could have the poor conduct that Haymitch was describing. "You can't prove that."

He looked at her again, eyebrows raised. "Oh yeah? Tell me, sweetheart, what _is_ your name?"

"Effie Trinket."

Haymitch nodded once. "Exactly. Effie _Trinket_. You're nothing more than a trinket to him—to every guy in Panem. You're just a shiny bauble used for decoration. No purpose other than to give some pleasure. And what do you eventually do with Trinkets, hm?" Effie couldn't answer past the lump in her throat—more like a boulder now. "You do what everyone does with a worthless Trinket. Throw them in the trash. And that's exactly what you are, sweetheart." He guzzled down the last of the wine. "Worthless trash."

Effie violently pushed past him and ran to her room.

* * *

Effie cried so hard that she threw up all of the scrumptious delicacies she consumed at the party. She didn't know how long she cried for—who keeps track when their heart has been ripped open? And now her expensive gown was _ruined_.

Effie knew Haymitch was a jerk. She'd been working with him for almost ten years. But she didn't know he could be so _heartless_. It was one thing that he didn't even like her. But to call her worthless trash? Effie dry heaved in time with her shattering heart. She didn't know how she'd be able to face him now.

No matter. In love or not, it was time she was promoted to a new District.

* * *

Effie put her final signature on the papers. Finished.

As she shuffled the papers into proper order, she was greeted with an eyeful of Haymitch's backside, taking a seat on the table. She heard him rattle ice around in his glass. "What are those?" he asked. It was the first time one of them spoke to each other in a week.

Effie leafed through the papers, double-checking that everything was in order so that she wouldn't have to look at him. "Papers."

He scoffed. "Obviously. Papers of what?"

She sighed. "I'm sending in an application requesting a promotion to a new District."

Haymitch went silent. Even his glass was still. "Why?" His voice was strained, like he was clenching his teeth.

Effie stood from her chair, papers in hand, and looked Haymitch square in the eye. Both expressions were blank. "So that you don't have to bother with taking out the trash."

Haymitch winced. "Effie—"

"Good day, Mr. Abernathy." With that, Effie turned on her heal and walked away without glancing back, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from falling.

* * *

"Ah, Ms. Trinket," greeted Plutarch Heavensbee. "Please, have a seat."

Effie walked into Plutarch's office and sat in a circular blue chair in front of his cherry wood desk. "Good morning, Mr. Heavensbee."

Plutarch sat forward and folded his hands on his desk. "So, Ms. Trinket, to what do I owe the pleasure for this visit?"

Effie sighed. "It's about my promotion application, Mr. Heavensbee." Plutarch nodded in affirmation. "I sent in my application two years ago, and I've received no word of a promotion. I know I served the time allotted, and there haven't been any severe blow-ups with Mr. Abernathy." _Except where it concerns us_. "I'm wondering why my request hasn't been honored?"

It was Plutarch's turn to sigh. "Ms. Trinket, you are indeed a fine escort. You _have_ kept Haymitch Abernathy under as much control as you possibly could. You do deserve a promotion."

"Pardon me for asking, but what is the issue then? Why haven't I been promoted to a higher District?"

"The matter is simply where you succeed. Haymitch."

"I'm sorry?"

"You are the only one to have success with Mr. Abernathy. We simply cannot afford to remove you from your current station."

Effie couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I don't understand. Surely I can counsel the new escort in…dealing…with Haym—Mr. Abernathy. There must be some way."

Plutarch smiled sadly. "I'm afraid there's not, Ms. Trinket. It took you ten years to reign in Mr. Abernathy, and he still has his outbursts. I don't believe you'd be willing to spend another ten years counseling another to take your place. That would defeat the purpose of your application now, wouldn't it?" Effie remained silent. Plutarch leveled his gaze at her. "Is there a certain reason you're asking for a promotion after ten years? I can understand after five. That's the necessary time before a request can be put in. But ten?"

Effie looked down at her goose-feather pumps. "I'm simply concerned about my career, Mr. Heavensbee."

"Ah. Well, if that's all, Ms. Trinket?" He smiled warmly.

Effie nodded, rising from her seat. "Yes, Mr. Heavensbee. Forgive me for taking up your time."

"Not at all, Ms. Trinket. Not at all."

* * *

"I never thought I'd see the day when bubbly Effie Trinket is more sullen than a mockingjay who lost its voice!"

Effie snapped out of her reverie to find Chaff Tamis take the seat beside her. The Opening Ceremonies were about to start. Everyone was looking forward to seeing the boy from District Four—Finnick Odair. Or, as Chloris and Diana liked to call him, Adonis in the flesh. Effie put on a big smile. "Oh, good evening Mr. Tamis!"

Chaff nodded. He took a swig from a beer bottle he was holding. Ah, yes. He was Haymitch's "drinking buddy." Why on earth he was speaking to her, Effie would never know.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. "Care to explain the melancholy disposition, Ms. Trinket?"

Effie looked at Chaff. He was staring into her eyes expectantly. Her lips thinned. "You'll forgive me for saying so, Mr. Tamis, but I don't usually discuss my personal affairs with strangers."

Chaff laughed and swung the arm devoid of a hand around her shoulders. "Nonsense, Ms. Trinket. We aren't strangers at all!" He tightened his hold when she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Could this have anything to do with your promotion?"

Effie started. "How did you…?"

Chaff jerked his chin to the right. "Haymitch may have mentioned it."

Effie's eyes followed his gesture. Haymitch was slouched in his seat, tugging at his tie as if it were choking him. Effie's heart sped up. "I see."

Chaff chuckled. "I'll assume you didn't get it. You'd be happier if you did." Effie's lips thinned again. "So…why _didn't_ you get that grand promotion?"

Effie snorted. Her eyes widened, and she cleared her throat, embarrassed by her unladylike behavior. "Mr. Heavensbee kindly explained that I was the only one who could handle Mr. Abernathy." She sniffed disdainfully. "Pardon me for saying that I don't agree with that decision."

"Neither do I, Ms. Trinket. In fact, I happen to know it's quite a different reason."

Effie whipped her head to look at him. "And…I assume you know this reason as well, Mr. Tamis?"

He nodded. "I do, in fact." He took another drink from his beer. "Right after you sent in your application Haymitch went to Plutarch Heavensbee and demanded that he not honor your request."

Effie blinked once. Twice. Three times. Then she laughed, not knowing what else to do. "You jest, Mr. Tamis." Her laughter cut short at his stoic expression. She glanced from Haymitch to Chaff. "You're not serious, are you?"

"I am, Ms. Trinket." The tone of his voice forced her to believe him.

White hot fury rose in her chest. "Why on earth would he do such a thing? This promotion was important to me! Why would he purposely sabotage my chances to further my career?" _Hasn't he caused me enough grief_? _Of all the selfish, inconsiderate...!_

Chaff sighed and looked out into the Courtyard. The Ceremonies would be starting soon. "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps Haymitch cares for you more than you believe?"

"No."

"And why is that?"

She felt her throat close at the memory. "He called me worthless trash, Mr. Tamis."

Chaff nodded solemnly. "So I've heard. Not one of his finer moments." He bit back a smile at her look. "But I promise you, he does not think of you as worthless trash."

Effie let out a bark of a laugh. "You'll forgive me again, but purposely sabotaging my job with an explanation to Mr. Heavensbee that I'm the only one who can handle him doesn't exactly prove that."

Chaff shrugged. "No. But that wasn't his real reason." Chaff held up a hand to keep Effie from protesting. "That was his reason he told Mr. Heavensbee. That wasn't the reason he told _me_."

Effie looked at Haymitch. His tie was off and he looked as if he were close to falling asleep. "And what did he say, Mr. Tamis?"

"He said that he couldn't survive without you."

Effie snatched her eyes back to Chaff. He looked completely serious, not a trace of a joke anywhere on his face. Effie struggled to breathe. "He…said that?"

Chaff smiled. "Along with a threat of bodily harm if I ever repeated it, but yes." His smile fell, and he let out a long sigh. "You may not be his favorite person, Ms. Trinket, but he knows that he wouldn't be able to live in a world without you. You keep him from certain death. He realizes that." Chaff stood up and stretched as the anthem of Panem began to play. Effie stood with him. "You're worth much more to him than he'd care to admit to anyone, even himself." He turned to her again and gave her a small nod. "Good evening, Ms. Trinket." He left to sit with his District partner.

Effie didn't pay attention to the entire Ceremony, even when the crowd cheered for Finnick Odair.

* * *

Effie dumped a bucket of water on an unconscious Haymitch's head. "Get up, Haymitch! It's a big, big, big day!"

Haymitch instantly shot up, flailing his knife around and swearing incoherently. His eyes finally focused on Effie. He groaned and put a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples. "Dammit, woman, you're going to give me a heart attack."

Effie waltzed to his closet, pulling out a shirt and trousers. "Nonsense," she said as she flung them on his bed. "Your liver will give out first."

He grumbled under his breath. Effie moved on to find proper undergarments. "Where the hell is my drink?"

Effie tsked her tongue. "Watch your language." She tossed a pair of socks over her shoulder. They hit him in the mouth. "I've taken your drink until further notice. You'll get it back as soon as you clean yourself up." She flung a pair of clean boxer shorts on top of the shirt and trousers with a slight blush on her cheeks. "Tonight are the Interviews. I want you at least somewhat sober for it." She faced him. "If I'm not getting promoted to a new District I want the one I have to look somewhat desirable."

Haymitch sobered up. His expression was unreadable yet again. "You're not being promoted?"

Effie crossed her arms and looked to the left. "You heard me, Haymitch. Apparently I'm the only escort who can handle your antics." She turned to her eyes back to him. He was smirking. Butterflies erupted in her stomach. After everything that happened he still had this effect on her. "Now shower and get dressed. I want to prove to everyone that I _can_ handle you. Maybe I'll get that promotion eventually." His smirk grew. "I want you at least half sober and on your best behavior tonight. Do you understand me?"

Haymitch laughed and grabbed the clothes she laid out for him. "Not a chance, sweetheart."

* * *

"What on earth was that?"

"I believe I just smacked your ass."

"How dare you touch me so inappropriately!"

"Sister, I'm the only man who's ever touched you, period."

* * *

"Let me go, woman, I can walk just fine!"

Effie grunted under Haymitch's weight. Where were the Avoxes when she needed them? "Haymitch, you ran into the door of the elevator, proceeded to flirt with your reflection, then fell over backwards because you were so dizzy. You're lucky you don't have a concussion."

Haymitch scratched his head confused. "Did I?"

They reached the living room of the penthouse. Effie guided Haymitch to the couch and deposited him there. She sat down next to him, exhausted. Even the Tributes didn't offer to help her with this fool. "Oof!" Effie winced at the pain coming from her lower half. Haymitch had fallen onto her lap, and clearly had no intention of moving. Effie rubbed her temples. "Haymitch, please get off of me. I'd like to go to bed."

"No, you're comfy."

Effie huffed. "Haymitch, get up _now_." Haymitch shook his head against her stomach. "Haymitch Abernathy!"

He finally looked up at her, eyes glassy and bloodshot. "Yes, Ms. Cranky-Pants?"

She scowled at him. "Very funny. I'm going to bed. Try not to vomit on the couch. This is the finest leather the Capitol has to offer."

"Why don't you sleep here with me, sweetheart?"

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. "I beg your pardon?"

He met her gaze surprisingly evenly. He smiled lazily. "You know, for an annoying Capitol ditz, you're sort of beautiful?"

Effie's heart sped up. "You've definitely had more than your limit. Good night." She moved to stand up, but Haymitch stopped her with his hand pushing down on her shoulder. She looked at him, confused. Her breath hitched at his proximity. His eyes flickered to her lavender lips then back to her eyes again. He slowly moved closer. _He's drunk, he's drunk, he's drunk!_ _Move away,_ now, _Effie Trinket_! But Effie found herself frozen in place. Haymitch stopped a breath away. "H-haymitch?"

His lips twitched upward. "Effie."

Her eyes fluttered closed in expectation. Surely just one kiss wouldn't hurt. It's not like he'll remember—

Haymitch took that opportunity to promptly vomit in her lap. Sometimes she hated her life. How could she be so stupid? One thing was for certain, she was never going to let him get that close to her while he was completely sloshed _ever_ again. She wasn't sure she'd be able to stop herself. And she valued her clothes.

* * *

"I've seen you passed out in the most random places. For example, once I found you on top of the television curled up in the fetal position. But can you please explain to me how I found you this morning passed out in my clothes hamper snuggling up to one of my bras?"

* * *

While Effie didn't believe Haymitch's accusations against Perseus, she was positive that his theories were proven correct against Wolfgang Lowe. Wolfgang, who would be extraordinarily handsome if not for that surgically Altered canine snout, was the richest sponsor for the Hunger Games. It wasn't unknown that he often seduced mentors and escorts alike to keep his involvement in their District. He was currently attempting to do the same with Effie.

"Such a shame about that boy from District Twelve. He came in the top ten this year."

Effie fought to keep the smile on her face. She normally tried to keep a friendly disposition to everyone, but this vile man was doing a lot for her patience. If she wasn't such a stickler for good manners she would have walked away the moment he said hello.

"He could have made it farther; if only he hadn't died from infection."

Effie nodded stiffly, taking a sip of her white wine. She didn't want red to spill over her pink dress and leave a stain. "Yes, it is very sad indeed, Mr. Lowe."

He smiled down at her, a predatory gleam in his incisors. "I'm sure if he had the proper sponsorship something could have been done." He didn't notice Effie's smile tighten. "If you need further sponsorship for future Tributes," he snaked a hand around her waist, his thumb making circles against the triangle of bare skin in her gown, "please don't be afraid to come to me. I'm more than happy to offer my services, Ms. Trinket."

Effie felt the bile rise in her throat. Before she could answer, someone tugged on her arm. She almost tripped as she lost her balance. She looked up to see Haymitch leading her away. "C'mon, Effie, we're dancing."

She struggled to keep up with his pace. Men really needed to learn that women couldn't always match their strides, especially when wearing six-inch heels. "Haymitch, you're going to make me spill my drink all over my new dress!"

Haymitch paused and turned to her. Without breaking eye contact, he took her glass, downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, then promptly threw the glass to the side. It shattered on the floor next to Seneca Crane. He glared at Haymitch. Haymitch ignored him and continued to lead Effie to the dance floor.

Effie blushed and mouthed an apology to Seneca. "Haymitch, I demand to know what you are doing!" She stumbled as they came to an abrupt halt. She shrank under the glares of the other couples who had to dance around them. She cleared her throat and fixed her wig to hide her embarrassment.

Haymitch growled under his breath. "I told you, we're dancing." He roughly pulled Effie into him before she could say a word. "Now shut up and dance before I come to my senses."

Effie promptly shut her mouth. It wouldn't have really mattered, however. All proper thought left her as Haymitch wrapped his right arm around her waist (somehow it wasn't as creepy as it had been with Wolfgang) and took her right hand in his left. She must be dreaming. Haymitch would never willingly dance—with _her_ of all people—in the presence of so many Capitol citizens. He probably wouldn't even dance in the privacy of his own bathroom.

Effie knew she wasn't dreaming when he stepped on her foot. He was a terrible dancer. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. After the third time she finally asked, "Ouch! My goodness, Haymitch, didn't anyone teach you how to dance?"

He glared at her. "It wasn't exactly the first class you took at school in District Twelve, Trinket." He stepped away from her slightly, dropping her hand. "But if you'd rather be violated by dog breath over there, be my guest."

Effie shook her head violently. "No, thank you! My apologies." Haymitch nodded once and took her hand again. They picked up where they left off, Haymitch taking more care in not stepping on her feet again. She sighed. "Why did you ask—demand—that I dance with you in the first place?" Haymitch raised an eyebrow. Her lips thinned. "Aren't you the one who said I was just a worthless trinket? Why would it matter if Wolfgang were…'violating'…me?"

Haymitch averted his eyes. "Yeah, well…" He looked at her again, expression completely serious and slightly sheepish. "Some Trinkets are meant to be cherished."

Effie's heart melted. She didn't think Haymitch had the ability to blush, but sure enough, there was the slightest bit of pink on his cheeks. Effie was thankful her pink powder covered her own blush. She smiled teasingly. It wasn't often she had the upper hand in their banter. "Why, Haymitch, are you blushing?"

He glared. "Shut up." He stepped on her foot purposely this time. She only laughed.

* * *

The Capitol really was beautiful. Effie didn't care what Haymitch said. Sure, the Capitol wasn't perfect. So maybe there were things that they could—should—probably do differently. And she admitted that President Snow wasn't the most upright man in all of Panem. But regardless of the imperfections with which her home was riddled, it was still breathtaking.

If there was one perk to being assigned to District Twelve, it was the fact that they had the penthouse. Once in a while Effie would find herself in the living area of the penthouse to look out the glass wall facing the heart of the Capitol, her arms wrapped around her torso. Tonight was one of those nights.

Even at two in the morning, the Capitol was still thriving with life. She supposed it was due to the after party following the Victor's Celebration earlier that night. Lights were twinkling, multi-colored people littered the streets, and laughter filled the air. The giant screen in the middle of the Courtyard was showcasing the recent polls in the latest reality talent show.

Effie started at the sound of someone running into the counter of the adjoining kitchen, followed by a violent stream of swear words. Haymitch clutched his side, glared at the offending countertop, and resumed a search for a drink. Effie sighed. "Didn't get enough at the party, Haymitch?"

Haymitch jumped, banging his head on a shelf in the liquor cabinet. He swore again. "Geez, woman," he muttered. "No. They never have anything strong enough for me at those stupid shindigs." He found a bottle worthy of his craving, unplugged the cork with his teeth, and took a deep swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to face her. She was still staring out the window. "What are you doing up this late? Shouldn't you be sleeping so you can be refreshed and 'up, up, up,' bright and early?" He chuckled mockingly.

Effie's lips twitched. A woman's voice did not become him. "Just admiring the splendor," she replied.

Haymitch snorted and sauntered over towards her. She tried to calm her quickening pulse. "Sooo," he drawled out. She turned to look at him. He was directly next to her. He smirked and gave her a once-over, eyes deliberately going over her body in slow motion. "This is what you look like without all of that colorful crap you parade around in."

Effie frowned, hugging her arms tighter. "It is not 'crap,' as you so rudely put it. It is the latest in Capitol fashion."

"Uh-huh. Right." He took in her hair. He grabbed a strand, rubbing it between his fingers. She prayed he wasn't getting any alcohol in her hair. "So this is what's been hiding underneath those wigs."

Effie's eyes didn't leave his face. He continued staring at her hair in grim fascination.

He twirled it around his first finger. "Grey?" He met her gaze.

Effie thought if her heart beat any louder, it would burst out of her chest. She searched his eyes, trying to find the meaning in the look he was giving her. "S-silver."

He grunted, looking at the strand he was holding. Slowly—painstakingly slowly—he reached his hand around her head and gently pulled the rest of her hair over her shoulder, his fingers running through it as it fell, like a metallic waterfall. "It's nice," he murmured. He continued to run his fingers through her hair as if he had never before felt hair in his life.

"Thank you," she whispered, afraid to break the spell. This was the first time that Haymitch was sober—well, mostly sober—and being willing to touch her in such an intimate fashion. She didn't count their earlier dance. He was too rough for that to be considered _intimate_. His fingers moved to the back of her head, almost massaging it. She involuntarily leaned into his touch and sighed through her nose.

This seemed to bring Haymitch to his senses. He snatched his hand back, almost pulling her hair with it. He turned to the window, not daring to gauge her expression. He cleared his throat. "Well." He took a long drink. "Good night." He walked briskly out of the room.

Effie watched him go, scalp burning from where his fingertips had grazed. _What was_ that _about_?

* * *

"Honestly, Haymitch, could you at least pretend to care about your hygiene?"

"I might if those damn showers weren't so hard to figure out."

"Oh, they really aren't _that_ difficult to figure out."

"Maybe. Hey, why don't you take one with me and show me how it's done?"

"…"

* * *

She didn't think it was possible. After every Select—Reaping—that she's done, this has never happened. She doesn't think that it's happened to any District, really. At least, not while she's been alive. It simply wasn't possible. The odds didn't add up.

How on earth could two twelve-year-olds be Sel—Reaped—the same year from the same District? She's never enjoyed seeing a twelve-year-old enter the Games. Not since that conversation she had with Haymitch over ten years ago. It just wasn't… It wasn't _right_.

Her anger rose when she saw their low training scores. These poor Trib—children—would be lucky if they made it past the first ten minutes. The room was silent except for Haymitch's ice whenever he took a drink. She glanced at the two children. The boy's face was white as a sheet; the girl was crying. Effie pressed her lips together. _Keep calm, Effie, keep calm_. "Well, this is just nonsense!" _That was not calm, Effie_.

The three other occupants gawked, surprised at her outburst. She felt her face heat up. "Well, it is! We can't send these two into the Games! Did you see those scores?"

The two Tributes flinched. Haymitch glared at her. "Effie—"

She stood up and pointed at him. "Don't you _Effie_ me, mister! Just because you were too drunk to properly train these two doesn't mean I'm going to sit here and do nothing! There has to be _something_ that can be done!"

Haymitch stood up and towered over her. "Effie, _watch it_."

She refused to back down. "I will not! Putting two twelve-year-olds into that arena is vile!"

Haymitch's eyes flashed. "Woman, if you don't _shut your mouth_—"

"They're going to _die_, Haymitch!" The girl wailed. "I won't just sit here and stand for this…this…_injustice_!"

Haymitch growled and lunged at her. Before Effie could raise her hands in defense, he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder. Effie screeched and pounded her fists on his back. "Put me down this instant!" The girl continued to cry as the boy watched in terrified fascination while Haymitch carried Effie out of the room.

Effie continued to scream at him. "Haymitch Abernathy, if you don't put me down right now, so help me I will—Ow!" Haymitch dropped her, none too gently, into his shower. He turned on the water full blast, successfully drenching her in seconds. She screeched and flailed around. "_Haymitch_!"

He glared down at her. "I'll turn it off once you cool down."

"You are the most insufferable—"

"Yeah, that's not cool, sweetheart." Effie huffed and crossed her arms. Haymitch waited a few seconds. Once he was sure she wouldn't start trying to burst his eardrum, he turned off the shower. She spat water at him. He crouched down until his face was inches from hers. She glared at him with equal force. "Now you listen to me," he hissed. "It doesn't matter how wrong it is. The fact of the matter is that those kids _are_ going into the arena in a few days. And you need to understand that there is nothing, _nothing_, that neither you nor I can do about it. In fact, you probably just scared those two kids even more shitless than they already were."

"They're just _babies_, Haymitch!"

He ran a hand through his hair. "You think I don't know that? _I'm_ their mentor! Trust me, if I could actually keep them from death, I _would_."

"Then let me out of this shower! We'll go to Seneca, Plutarch, _somebody_, and try to keep these kids out of there!"

Haymitch gripped her shoulders. "Do you even hear what you're saying, Effie? Do you even realize how much trouble you're in right now?"

Effie narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about? These kids are about to die. How could I be the one in trouble?"

"This train is bugged, Effie! Bugged!" He shook her. "Do you know what that means?" He took a deep breath. "It means the Capitol—President Snow—can hear every word you're saying." He swore. "You have no idea how much trouble you're in now because of what you said back there." He stood up running his hand through his hair again. In the back of her mind, Effie noted to sign him up for a haircut.

She eyed him warily. "What do you mean?'"

He shook his head. "What I mean is," he met her eyes, "don't be surprised if you find yourself or someone you love dead within the week."

* * *

As soon as Effie and Haymitch stepped on the train to return him to District Twelve, an Avox came towards her with a phone on a silver platter. He gestured the platter towards her, letting her know the call was for her. Effie took the phone, sharing a confused look with Haymitch. They rarely got personal calls when they were traveling. What could this be about? She nodded to the Avox, letting him know that he could leave.

"Hello?"

_"Good Afternoon, Ms. Effie Trinket. This is Agron Ferrell, an agent for President Snow. We regret to inform you that your family has been killed in an unfortunate car accident early this morning. They hit an oncoming train heading from District One to pick up their escort and mentors. The explosion was immediately fatal. We recognized them through their dental records. Please accept our deepest apologies and—"_

The phone slipped from Effie's hand and dropped to the floor. She felt as if her whole body had been covered with ice water. Her mother, father, precious younger brother…dead. She thinks she may have heard someone say her name. She doesn't know. She only knew that her family had been killed. On purpose? Probably. Most likely. After all, Haymitch did warn her. Haymitch…

She slowly turned around to face him. He was looking at her, expression guarded, but full of pity. Something inside of Effie broke. A sob tore through her, and she flung herself into Haymitch. He stiffened, arms limp by his sides, as she clutched him with all of the strength she had left in her. She cried into his already soiled shirt.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her just as tightly. She cried harder. She thinks she may have said words through her tears, but she wasn't sure. They probably weren't coherent anyway. She drenched his shirt with her tears. She wonders if her long nails tore holes in the back of his shirt from her grip. If they did, Haymitch didn't do anything about it. He merely held her as she cried, muttering soothing words. But not once did he tell her it would be okay.

They both knew things were far from okay.

* * *

That night Effie decided she would never do anything that could upset the Capitol again. She'd be a model citizen, a picture perfect example of what the Capitol expected of Panem.

* * *

"Would it kill you to use a fork?"

"Would it kill you to loosen up?"

* * *

It was common for Haymitch to mumble in his sleep. Effie would often hear him as she passed by his room on her way to wake him for the day or as she stepped over his body, passed out in a drunken stupor. He would typically mumble names. Sometimes they would be the names of his brother and mother. Rarely would he mention a girl named Violet. More often than not it would be Maysilee. However, lately she's been hearing a name that sounds eerily similar to Effie.

* * *

"Are you ready yet?"

Effie turned from her wig shelf to see Haymitch standing in her doorway. It was time for the Closing Ceremonies for the Seventy-Second Annual Hunger Games. And for the life of her, Effie could not figure out which color would go best with her black and gold ensemble. She held up her top two options on their respective mannequin heads and held them up for him to see. "What do you think, Haymitch? Bronze or Cream?"

Haymitch rolled his eyes and struggled with his tie. "Do you really think I care, princess?" He gave a hard tug and swore. "You'd think after twenty years they'd figure out that I _hate_ these things!"

Effie tsked her tongue and replaced her mannequins on their shelf. She'll decide on a color in a minute. She walked over to the struggling drunkard. "Honestly, Haymitch," she said as she began to fix his tie. "It's a tie, not a noose."

"What's the difference?" he grumbled.

Effie chuckled. "I don't I need to tell _you_ the difference. Besides, I think they make you look quite handsome." She gave a final tug as the tie slid into its proper place around his neck. She smiled up at him at gave him a quick double-pat on his chest. "There you are! Good as…new?"

Haymitch caught her hand and stared at her with an intensity that took away all previous rational thought. They were silent as he traced lazy circles in her palm. "You know," he said huskily. She could feel his chest rumble beneath their connected hands. "You look much better without all of that ridiculous make-up caked on your face."

He bent his head closer to hers. She swallowed thickly. "Oh, did I forget to put it on?" She let out a breathy chuckle. "Silly me, I must have forgotten with my wig situation."

He continued moving closer, slowly inching his way forward. This was all very familiar to her. Only now he was sober—and she was scared to death. As before, he stopped a breath away. "H-Haymitch?"

There was no smile this time. Only intensity. "Effie."

Effie licked her lips. That small motion seemed to be what was necessary to propel him further. His mouth crashed onto hers in a heated rush. Effie gasped as she felt an electric shock course through her veins. Haymitch took this opportunity to deepen the kiss. Every rule of etiquette screamed in her mind that this was completely inappropriate. But how could it when it felt this good, and she waited _so long_ for this moment?

Effie slid her hands from Haymitch's chest, past his neck, and dug her fingers into his dark curls. Haymitch growled in the back of his throat—the sound sent shivers down Effie's spine—and pushed her back into the wall. His mouth moved against hers, hot and urgent. Effie was surprised to find that he didn't taste like alcohol. He tasted like spearmint, apples, and something that was entirely Haymitch. His stubble scratched her ever so slightly, creating a fire in the pit of her stomach. She dug her fingers deeper into his hair. He responded by pressing her even further into the wall—she was sure they were one being by now. His hands moved slowly up her sides, bare from the cut in her dress. His hands left searing burns trailing behind. She let out a tiny moan into his mouth.

She broke the spell. Haymitch tore away from her with a gasp. She looked up at him, confused and dazed, chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. He looked back, petrified. "Shit," was all he said. "Effie, I—I didn't…Drink. I need a drink." With that he spun around and practically ran out of her room. Effie remained rooted against the wall, staring at the door from which Haymitch had exited. She felt like crying.

They were going to be so, so, so late.

* * *

Haymitch avoided her the rest of the night. Well, more like he drank so much that he passed out before the Closing Ceremonies were over. She didn't even bother helping him to his room that night. She let two Avoxes take care of it.

He avoided her the next day as well. It annoyed her. Honestly, he was a grown man! If he wasn't going to own up to his actions...well, she wasn't sure how to finish the thought, but she wanted answers! And, gosh darn it, she was going to get them!

She intercepted him before he could grab a bottle when they boarded the returning train. He was already sufficiently tipsy. Effie wasn't about to wait until he was barely conscious. She took the bottle from his hands as he raised it to his lips. He was rewarded with a stream of beer in his face. He coughed and sputtered, wiping his face with the end of his shirt.

Effie slammed the bottle on the table. "Haymitch, we are going to talk about that kiss like two mature adults."

Haymitch flinched but tried to play it off under a nonchalant façade. "You come back for more, sweetheart?"

Effie threw her hands up. "How can I come back for more? We haven't even discussed the first!"

Haymitch shrugged, attempting to reach for his bottle. Effie blocked him. "What's there to talk about?"

"Why did you do it? Why did you kiss me just to avoid me like the plague afterwards?"

He smirked. "Maybe you were a bad kisser?"

Effie glared and put her hands on her hips. "Well, you certainly weren't complaining then!" Haymitch blinked at her. "Answer me, Haymitch!"

He cringed. "I was drunk," he offered lamely.

"You and I both know you were one-hundred percent sober."

Haymitch glared at her. "Does it really matter? It was a mistake. An accident."

Effie let her arms fall to her side and met his glare. "An accident." She shook her head. "So I'm to believe that you practically maul me, avoid me for days, and you are attempting to write this off as an accident?"

Haymitch nodded. "That's right, sweetheart. A heat of the moment exchange. It meant nothing."

"Nothing?" Effie tried another tactic. "Didn't you…feel…anything?"

His eyes hardened. "No. It meant nothing. I _felt_ nothing. I regretted it the moment it happened."

Effie bit her lip angrily. How dare this man toy with her feelings like this! "I see." She took a deep breath and slipped into escort mode. "Well, then. I suppose that settles it."

Haymitch eyed her warily. "I guess so."

She nodded once. "I think from now on it'll be best if we keep our relationship strictly professional. We will not speak to each other unless it's absolutely necessary and for business purposes only."

He shrugged. "Fine by me. I thought that's what we were doing before this mess."

Effie felt a pang in her chest. Did she really mean so little to him? So little that he thinks nothing of the moments they've shared before? _Maybe you're just being overdramatic. It_ is _in your nature, after all_. No. No, she knew Haymitch. Of course he wouldn't think of her in any sentimental way. It was high time she do the same. She'd merely have to push past her feelings. "Good day, Mr. Abernathy."

He reached around her and grabbed his bottle. He raised it towards her in a toast. "Good day, Ms. Trinket."

* * *

Effie hid behind her schedule obsession and her cheery attitude. She vaguely wondered if anyone could tell her smile was fake and a touch manic. She doubted anyone really cared enough.

Haymitch drank more. They kept true to their word. They only spoke if necessary—and that was only if Haymitch was conscious enough to speak more than two sentences.

When they did speak, they were at each other's throats. It was worse than when they had first started out as partners. Chaff questioned the two about it. Finnick smirked and said it was sexual tension. Effie blushed, and Haymitch shoved him into the monitors, making Finnick laugh.

Whatever it was, it was clear to everyone who watched them that it would take a miracle for those two to be civil to each other again.

* * *

When Haymitch tried to hug Effie during the Seventy-Fourth Reaping, she _almost_ gave in. Almost.

* * *

Effie admired her newest Tributes. She admired Katniss's strength and dedication, and she admired Peeta's kindness and devotion. His love for Katniss was evident the moment they got on the train to the Capitol. It reminded her of her own love for Haymitch. (No matter what they did, no matter how they hurt, Effie and Peeta would never stop loving them.) The two Tributes were fighters. Katniss would fight for Prim; Peeta would fight for Katniss.

It was for this reason that Effie sought out Haymitch for something other than to straighten up for public appearances.

He was still sleeping when she entered his room. He even looked clean. Someone must have cleaned him up after his spill last night. That means he was going to have one heck of a hangover this morning. No matter. He would get up and help these kids whether he liked or not.

She smacked him hard on his backside. He jolted awake with a yelp. When he noticed Effie standing above him, he groaned and turned back over. "Go away. I'm sleeping."

"Not anymore, you're not. You are going to get up, eat a proper meal _for once_, and mentor these kids properly."

"Says who?"

"Says _me_, Haymitch. Now get up. I want to see you in that dining cart in five minutes." She spun on her heel and walked away.

"Or you'll what?"

Effie turned to face him. He was propping himself on one arm, eyebrow raised in a challenge. Effie narrowed her eyes. "I'll burn the liquor."

He glared at her. "You wouldn't dare."

She would. She didn't care if it gave him horrible night terrors. She was not going to see two kids who actually had a sporting chance go to waste simply because he had horrific withdrawal symptoms. "Try me."

* * *

Sure enough, five minutes later, Haymitch stumbled into the cart. He looked awful, even to Effie. She passed him a cup of coffee after he sat down. He growled at the offending liquid. "Sometimes, woman, I really hate you."

Effie poured her own cup. "This isn't news to me, Haymitch. If you were to pay me a compliment _then_ I might faint from shock."

He smiled drily. "Noted for future reference." He took a sip. "So what's with the sudden interaction and threats? Why suddenly care that I mentor these kids 'properly?'"

Effie gave him a look. "Believe it or not, Haymitch, I've always cared. I just understood that you didn't bother with those who you believed didn't have a prayer. But these kids have a _chance_, Haymitch. A real fighting chance." He raised his eyebrows. "That boy—he has charisma I haven't seen since Finnick Odair. Except Peeta's is actual charm, not just looks. He could win through sponsors alone. And the girl? She's a survivor. She'll win through sheer willpower. With her sister at home, she'll stop at nothing to win."

Haymitch propped his chin in his hand, his grey eyes calculating. "That's a pretty speech, sweetheart."

"I'm serious, Haymitch." She sighed. "Look, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones if you agree to seriously help these kids. Do we have a deal?"

Haymitch grinned broadly. "Alright, Effie, you got yourself a deal. These kids prove to me that they're every bit a fighter as you claim, and I'll stay sober enough to train them." He stuck out his hand.

She smiled and shook it. She took her coffee and began heading out of the cart. She heard Haymitch call out her name. Before she could turn around, she felt his hand make sharp contact with her backside. She yelped in pain, narrowly avoiding spilling her coffee.

"That's for this morning, princess."

Effie grumbled, opening the door and brushing by a newly arrived Katniss, Haymitch's chuckles echoing in her ear.

* * *

_"…Only one winner may be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."_

This is the first time Effie thinks she may absolutely _hate_ the Capitol.

* * *

Everything felt surreal. This was the first time Effie was on a returning train with a Victor. Scratch that: _two_ Victors. She didn't know how they did it. Her admiration had kicked up to awe and reverence. Katniss and Peeta truly were survivors.

Effie headed back to the dining cart once she dropped off the two Victors in their respective rooms. She found Haymitch sitting at the table, twirling a glass of scotch around in his hand. She smiled softly and walked over to him. She snatched the glass out of his hands. "Now this just won't do." For once, he did nothing. He seemed to be in a daze. She disappeared behind the liquor cabinet. She took out a bottle of her favorite wine. She held it up for him to see with a smile. "An occasion such as this calls for something much more refined."

He only grunted in response.

She rejoined him at the table with the bottle and two wine glasses. She poured one of him and another for herself. She took a sip, enjoying the sweet taste. Haymitch only drummed his fingers against the glass, staring out into space. Effie sighed. "Haymitch, you just brought home two Victors. You should be more cheerful than this. To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised you haven't used this excuse to become even more inebriated than usual." He made no sign of showing he heard her. "It's over now. They're safe, Haymitch."

He slammed his fist against the table. Effie flinched. "Safe?" he hissed. He looked at her angrily. "You think those two are _safe_? They will _never_ be safe!" He ignored his glass and instead took the bottle and took big gulp.

Effie grimaced. "But at least they're not _dead_."

Haymitch barked a laugh. "No, they're not dead. Not dead."

They sat in silence, drinking their wine—Effie from her glass, Haymitch from the bottle. It was times like these that made Effie see how different they truly were. She was more refined, and he was the epitome of rough around the edges. She drank to be social, he drank to cope. He only focused on the negative; she tried to find the positive. And, believe it, that wasn't easy in her line of work.

Not that it was any easier for Haymitch—quite the opposite. It was harder for him than it was for her. After all, the lives of children were essentially in his hands.

"You know, this is our last year together, Effie?"

Effie furrowed her eyebrows. He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were focused on the wall in front of him. "What are you talking about?"

Haymitch took another drink. "After the Victory Tour, I'll be done." He looked at her. "I won't be a mentor anymore. They'll have Peeta and Katniss now."

Effie looked at the table, feeling as though a weight had been dropped on her shoulders. He was right. This would be their last year together. It was likely they wouldn't see each other for years after this, if at all. She knew Haymitch would want to stay as far away from anything to do with the Games or the Capitol as possible. And that included her.

Suddenly, this was much more than a return home. This was a farewell to an era. After twenty years of spending so much time with one another, they would soon be spending none at all. Every argument, unplanned moment of tenderness, nag, tease, fight, chipper greeting, drunken insult—it was all coming to an end.

She hadn't realized she was crying until Haymitch handed her a napkin. "Now, don't go getting all sentimental on me, sweetheart," he said gruffly.

She laughed wetly. "Sentimental? I'm just so happy I'll no longer have to deal with your antics!" _I'm devastated that I'll never see you again_.

Haymitch smirked, but his eyes were full of understanding. He knew what she meant. "Don't worry, princess. I plan on making your life hell during the Victory Tour."

* * *

She was with Chloris and Creon during the announcement of the Third Quarter Quell. They were catching up with each other—it had been so long since they had chatted—and planning a baby shower for Diana (she was pregnant with twins) when President Snow popped up on the screen with the news everyone had been waiting for.

The Tributes for the Third Quarter Quell would be Selected from the pool of Victors in each District.

All three gasped in horror.

"That means Katniss will be going back into the Games!" Chloris had cried, her hands over her chest.

"It'll be the Star-Crossed Lovers fighting for their lives all over again!" Creon was much more excited than Chloris. Yes, he was upset—he had grown attached to their little story. But it was this very attachment that made him so excited in the first place. He would get to see it "all over again!"

But the only thing Effie could think was, _Haymitch. Victor. Haymitch was a Victor. Haymitch could go back into the Games. Haymitch might die. Die. Haymitch. Dead_.

* * *

Effie was positive at that moment that she absolutely _hated_ the Capitol.

* * *

Effie dressed in mockingjay-pin-gold for the Third Quarter Quell Reaping. On the outside, she explained that it was an effort to make District Twelve seem like a team. But in reality, it was Effie's own way of showing support for the oncoming Rebellion. She didn't know if it really existed or not. But just in case it did, she wanted the world to know that she was a part of it in her own Effie Trinket way.

* * *

She couldn't look Haymitch in the eye during the Reaping. It would be too painful. What if she drew his name?

* * *

She had to keep herself from falling off the stage when she saw _Haymitch Abernathy_ on that fatal slip of paper.

She wanted to kiss Peeta for volunteering in his place (but that doesn't mean she was happy Peeta was going into the arena—there really was no good scenario here) until she saw the look Haymitch exchanged with Katniss.

He had wanted to go into the Games.

* * *

Effie let Peeta and Katniss have training day to themselves. They deserved one last day of peace. And, truthfully, she didn't think she'd be able to face them without turning into a puddle of mess.

She smiled when she saw the two lovebirds go through the door and into the stairwell that led to the roof. Though every instinct in her screamed _schedule, schedule, schedule_, she knew she made the right decision. Besides, she had her own business to take care of. And there was no room in the schedule for it on a regular day.

Effie straightened her wig, grabbed a black box off her vanity, and began a search for Haymitch. Oddly enough, it didn't take her long. She found him in the living area, staring out the glass window that faced the heart of the Capitol. At least, she thinks he was staring. It was kind of hard to tell. His palms were flat against the glass (she'll have to clean the fingerprint residue later), and he was leaning all of his weight into his hands. He looked torn.

She walked over and stood next to him. He didn't acknowledge her presence. She didn't expect him to. "You look like you've seen better days."

"I've got my only two Victors going back into the arena, each expecting me to save the other. Do you expect me to be jumping for joy?"

Effie bit her lip. "Not at all." She examined him from the corner of her eye. His clothes looked especially loose on his frame. "You lost weight?" Effie almost smacked her forehead. _Smooth, real smooth_.

Haymitch laughed. "You would think about appearances during a time like this." Effie pursed her lips. "But, yeah, princess, I guess I did. I suppose that's what happens when a lovesick bread boy goes Career on your ass. It was nothing but conditioning and alcohol-free diets until the Third Quarter Quell Reaping."

She didn't respond for a minute. "Haymitch…did you want to go into the Games?"

Haymitch pushed himself off the window and looked at her. "What?"

"If I had chosen Peeta's name out of the bowl, would you have volunteered?"

He stared at her long and hard. "Yes," he finally said in a low voice.

She felt her heart sink. "Why?"

He didn't answer. He just looked out the window.

"I'm glad I didn't draw his name then."

Haymitch snapped his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes. He wasn't angry, but not exactly touched either. "Effie—"

"No!" she shouted. "Listen to me! Do you have any idea how I felt when I drew your name out of that bowl? Any idea at all? For a fleeting moment I thought you were going to _die_."

Haymitch sneered. "Yes, I'm sure it must have been very hard for you."

"It was!"

"Oh, really? And why is that?"

Effie crossed her arms and glared at him. "Did you ever think that _maybe_ I don't hate you as much as you and I like to pretend?" _Did you ever think that_ maybe _I'm in love with you, you stupid idiot_?

He smirked. "Who's pretending?"

Effie's eyes smarted. There was just no talking to him. _This was a silly idea_. "Forget it," she spat. She turned to walk away.

Haymitch grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. "Okay, okay, I get it. Not funny."

Effie yanked her wrist back, but she didn't leave. "You. Are. Impossible."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah. I've heard." He gestured a hand towards Effie's black box. "So what's in that thing? You've been holding it this whole time."

Effie feigned indifference. "Oh, it's nothing really." Haymitch immediately stiffened, his ingrained intuition screaming that danger was coming. Effie opened the box and held up a gold bracelet with an intricate pattern of flames etched onto it. "Just a little something for you to wear during the Games…"

Haymitch began backing up. "No way."

Effie bristled. "Honestly, Haymitch, it's just a bracelet. Now put it on." She stalked forward—Haymitch continued backwards. She felt like a cat toying with a mouse.

"The only way I'm wearing that thing is if you force it on me!"

"You're acting like a child. Don't you want to support Katniss and Peeta?"

Haymitch put the couch between them. "I think I can do that just fine without wearing any jewelry."

"Don't think of it as jewelry. Think of it as a badge of honor!"

They stared at each other, just daring the other to cave in first. "Okay, fine."

"It's really—what?"

Haymitch nodded to the bracelet. His face was blank of any emotion. "I said I'll wear it. Just unhook it and put it on me."

Effie blinked. "Oh. Well. Alright then." Effie looked down at the bracelet and began undoing the clasp. "I really thought you were going to put up more of a fi—_Haymitch_!"

Haymitch tore off her wig and began running out the door, laughing all the way, waving her wig in the air like a flag. "You'll never take me alive, Trinket!"

"Haymitch Abernathy, you come back her _this minute _and wear this bracelet like a man!"

* * *

"Effie? What happened to your wig?"

"Oh, Katniss! Peeta! It's—never mind, I'm so sorry for this completely inappropriate display."

"Uh, okay…"

"Have you seen Haymitch?"

"Can't say that we have."

"Right. Thank you. Again, my apologies."

* * *

Effie crept into Haymitch's room. He had to be here somewhere. She's been chasing after him all day. Normally she would never give in to his childish antics, but he decided to get personal about it. Really, it was just a bracelet. That gave him no reason to snatch her wig off her head! She was completely humiliated when she ran into Katniss and Peeta, her silver hair in all of its exposed glory.

"Sneak attack!"

"Ack!" Someone grabbed Effie around her waist, and they fell to the ground. Her assailant twisted so that they hit the ground first instead of her—how thoughtful of them. She struggled to get up.

"Oh, no, you don't, princess!"

Haymitch rolled over and pinned Effie on her stomach. He sat on her back—her limbs flailing underneath his weight—and plucked the bracelet from her hands. "Ha! I win!"

Effie relented, allowing her arms and legs to go still. She clearly wasn't getting up from underneath this nuisance anytime soon. "Fine. You won. Are you happy now, you insufferable child?"

"Sufficiently."

"Ah, you're expanding your vocabulary. Now, please, let me up."

Haymitch tugged a lock of her hair. "Not until you tell me what you've learned today."

Effie heaved a sigh. "You are not wearing the mockingjay bracelet."

"Damn straight."

* * *

Effie was not giving up that easily. He was wearing that stupid piece of jewelry whether he liked it or not. They were going in as a team. Plus, she had another trick up her sleeve—one that she was positive was going to work.

If there was one thing she learned about Haymitch from working with him these twenty years, it was that he had a fetish for hair. And she was about to use this weakness to her advantage.

Once she was ready for the Opening Ceremonies, she walked to Haymitch's room and knocked on the door. She rolled her eyes when she heard him run into something—probably his bed—and let out a string of profanities. He yelled at her to come in.

She entered with the dignity of a queen. He was sitting on his bed, clutching his recently injured knee. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm ready, sweetheart, just give me a minute."

_Go in for the kill_. She walked over and stopped directly in front of him. "You most certainly are not ready. Just look at you!"

"What are you talking about, woman? I look—" Effie combed her fingers through his hair. He instantly froze. Perfect. "What are you doing?"

Effie grunted. "Fixing your hair. It looks like you haven't combed it for weeks." That was probably true.

Haymitch swallowed as her fingers moved in slow, deliberate movements. "Effie. Effie, please stop."

She smirked inwardly. She knew she hadn't been wrong. "Nonsense. If you're not going to wear the bracelet, you're at least going to be in impeccable condition. If that means I have to fix these untamable curls—" she curled her fingers for emphasis; he clutched the bed until his knuckles turned white "—then so be it!" He clenched his teeth. "Just relax, Haymitch. It won't take that long."

Sure enough, Haymitch allowed himself to relax. He gave into the sensation of her fingers running through his hair. She didn't quite understand what it was about hair that apparently—erm, "turned him on"—but she was thankful she at last found a weakness in this impenetrable man. She almost felt guilty for using this against him, but then she reminded herself of what he had done the previous day (and previous years, for that matter).

Effie allowed her motions to become more intimate. Haymitch seemed to sense the change. He put his hands on her hips, his thumbs moving back and forth in rhythm with her caresses. _Don't lose focus, don't lose focus, don't lose focus_! She pulled her hand back, put her fingernails to the front of his hairline, and ever so gently grazed her fingernails back through his hair. His eyes rolled to the back of his head in response.

_Click_.

Haymitch's eyes shot open. He looked at his wrist, where his hand was still resting on Effie's hip. Only now it adorned a gold bracelet with a flaming emblem. He looked at her in shock. She smiled back at him cheekily. "Your hair is finished!" Except now it looked messier than when she had started. Serves him right.

He glowered. "That was low, princess."

She stepped out of his grasp. "Maybe. But I think it's safe to say you deserved it. Besides, you said you would wear it if I forced it on you."

He grumbled under his breath. "You are an evil, evil, evil woman."

* * *

It was the day that Effie had been dreading.

The Third Quarter Quell.

Effie tried to stay bubbly for the sake of everyone else. It was hard, but she tried. Haymitch was still mad about the bracelet, but he'll get over it in time. Katniss was withdrawn as usual. Peeta was the only one who tried to carry on conversation with her. She appreciated it, more than he'll ever know. They didn't think so, but she deeply cared for these two. She honestly hoped that a Rebellion existed strictly so that what Katniss and Peeta had to go through wouldn't be in vain.

She walked them to the elevator where they'll go to meet with their prep team before heading off to the arena. She promised them she'll give them a proper farewell once they were done with Cinna and Portia. She was planning on going to see them off this year.

All Effie could do was pace in the living room while she waited for the time to come that they would be whisked away to meet their imminent death. Haymitch was following her with his eyes. This only heightened her nerves and made her pace more.

"Effie, if you don't quit it, you'll wear a line in the floor."

"I'm sorry, Haymitch, I'm just big, big ball of nerves!"

"Well, that's nothing new," he muttered under his breath.

Effie shot him a look. She restarted her pacing. Back, forth, back, forth. "Is it time yet?"

Haymitch groaned. "For the thousandth time—"

There was a knock. They both looked at the door, confused. An Avox answered it, and four Peacekeeper officials came in. Haymitch stood up. "Can we help you?" he asked in an unpleasant tone.

One of the Peacekeepers stepped forward. "We're here for Effie Trinket."

Effie furrowed her brows. "I beg your pardon?"

"President Snow has requested a word with you."

Effie's heart stopped. She felt Haymitch step closer towards her. "May I ask for what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm afraid the information is classified."

Effie looked at Haymitch, eyes terrified. He met her gaze, stony yet with a hint of apprehension. They seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"Ms. Trinket, if you'll please come with us?"

The Peacekeeper forcefully took her by the arm and propelled her forward. She followed, a sense of doom growing in the pit of her stomach.

"Effie!"

She turned to see Haymitch standing in front of her. He looked at her, unsure of what to say. There were so many emotions running through his eyes—reluctance, worry, fear, acceptance, the slightest hint of tenderness. He opened and closed his mouth, words failing him. He finally settled for clapping her on the shoulder. "You take care of yourself, sweetheart."

She felt tears well up in her eyes. She couldn't speak past the lump in her throat, so she settled for squeezing the hand on her shoulder. The Peacekeepers shoved her forward.

* * *

Effie was led down a long corridor. It was ironically beautiful. The carpet was a plush red, the walls a cream with cherry wood borders. But all Effie could see was the blood of children.

One of the Peacekeepers opened a door and motioned her inside. She walked through the doorway and heard the door click behind her.

"Ms. Trinket," came President Snow's eerily calm voice. "So glad you could join me."

Effie knew at this moment that she would never see Haymitch again.

* * *

Darkness.

That's all Effie was aware of.

Darkness. Blackness. A blackness so thick it choked her, suffocated her. She couldn't see her hand an inch from her face.

Darkness.

* * *

She felt something slither across her hand.

Her scream was bone-chilling and piercing—but not even her scream could pierce through the darkness.

* * *

It surrounded her.

She had to get out. She needed to leave.

But which way was up? Which way was left? Which way was straight?

Was she moving? She wasn't sure. Everything around her was spinning.

Or was it? She couldn't see anything but the darkness.

Dizzying darkness. Spinning—rotating—gyrating—whirling.

She threw up violently. But did she vomit upwards or upside down?

* * *

They starved her. She was never allowed any food, any water.

They kept her to the brink of death. They would wait until just before her heart would completely give out, and then they would inject her with a needle, pumping a foreign substance into her veins.

It kept her alive just long enough before they would repeat the process.

And still all she saw was darkness.

* * *

Years. She was in there for years.

She was sure of it.

* * *

"Ms. Trinket."

She flinched. That was President Snow. But she couldn't see him. She couldn't see anything.

"I thought you might want to know we caught the Rebel Forces."

So there was a Rebellion.

"Your Mr. Abernathy was a ringleader."

Haymitch? _Haymitch_.

"Yes, Haymitch."

Had she been talking?

"My dear, they attempted an onslaught this afternoon. Unfortunately for your Haymitch, he's been captured."

_Captured_?

"I can assure you his death will be slow."

_No_.

* * *

Darkness.

Chilling darkness. She felt so cold.

* * *

"Ms. Trinket."

It was President Snow again.

"My dear, Ms. Trinket, it's time for the execution. We thought you might like to hear it."

Screams.

Blood-curdling screams. Haymitch's screams.

_Haymitch. They were killing Haymitch_.

Effie's heart—she still had a heart? She couldn't feel it beating anymore—shattered. Shards of her heart speared through her as she heard his screams.

Screams.

There was another scream. It was high pitched, blending with his lower—a horrific harmony.

_They were hers_.

* * *

Darkness.

Haymitch was dead.

So why should she go on?

She succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

Light.

Blinding, white light.

"Oh, heaven above."

A voice.

It wasn't hers. It wasn't President Snow's.

Was it Death's? She'll meet him gladly. He'll take her to Haymitch.

"Haymitch, she's in here!"

_Yes, Haymitch_. She's coming for him.

"Holy shit." That was his voice. She must be close. Should she say something? Let Death know that she was ready?

"Haymitch…" She barely heard her own voice.

"Stay with me, sweetheart."

* * *

Flying.

She was flying.

She didn't want to fly.

She wanted to die.

* * *

Effie stirred. She felt something in her arm—a needle. She heard noises—a beeping. What was it? Should she open her eyes?

No.

She didn't want to see the darkness again.

But…she was supposed to be dead. So maybe the darkness was gone?

Effie blearily opened her eyes.

She was in a room. It was a greyish-blue color. She didn't like it. It was too plain. _But it was better than the darkness_. She was on a flat bed. She had wires connected to circular pads attached to her body. That needle—it was I.V. There was something in her nose. She went cross-eyed. She couldn't see it, but she figured it must be an oxygen tube.

She was in a hospital.

She looked to her left. There was a chair. There was someone in the chair. A man. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was sleeping.

"Plutarch?" her voice sounded strange. Vacant.

Plutarch stirred. He rubbed his eyes with his chubby hands and let out a huge yawn. He paused when he saw her. "Effie?" he whispered. "You're awake?"

"Am I dead?"

Plutarch let out a breathy chuckle of relief. "No, you're not dead. It's a miracle, too." He frowned, his lips tight in a grim line. "Haymitch and I had to fight to keep you alive."

"Haymitch?" Could it be? No, don't believe it. "Haymitch is dead."

Plutarch shook his head. "No," he argued gently. "Haymitch is the one who brought you here from the Capitol. It was a brigade to fetch Annie, Johanna, Peeta, and Enobaria. But when he found out that you were in captivity as well, he refused to leave until he found you." He sighed. "We just barely made it. I don't think I've ever seen the old drunkard so scared."

Effie blinked. Haymitch found her. Haymitch rescued her. "He's alive?"

Plutarch nodded. "He is."

Effie thinks she may have heard the heart monitor give a steadier _-beep-beep-beep-_. Plutarch must have noticed as well because his eyes flickered from the monitor to her face. "May I see him, Mr. Heavensbee?"

His forehead creased apologetically. "I'm sorry, but not yet, Effie. You're still pretty unstable. We don't want anything potentially upsetting you in your already fragile state. You understand, yes?"

Effie sighed. Disappointment and distress was evident on her face, but yes, she did understand. And even if she didn't, there was no sense in putting on a hissy-fit. It wasn't polite, anyway.

Plutarch smiled sympathetically. "I'll go get the doctor and let him know you're awake."

"Thank you." She watched him walk away. "Mr. Heavensbee?" He turned around, his hand on the doorknob. Effie bit her lip. _Did she really want to know_? "How many years has it been since I was captured?"

Shock washed over his countenance. "_Years_?" Effie nodded. "Ms. Trinket…you were only in captivity for three months."

_Only three months_?

* * *

It took three weeks before they deemed her stable enough for visitors. Peeta came twice—he didn't look well, but she was glad to see him alive. She cried when he walked in the room. Katniss didn't come, but she understood. They never did have the best relationship. Katniss's prep team, however, came into her room frequently. She supposed it was the familiarity of those from home. Whatever it was, she was grateful. Though she despised the Capitol, it was still her home. It would always be a part of her. Plutarch continued to visit her, keeping her up to date with what was going on in the Rebellion. Even Primrose Everdeen visited her once. She said it was for medical reasons, but that was fine with Effie. The little wisp was a dear. She could see why Katniss sacrificed her life for her sister's.

Not once did she get a visit from Haymitch.

* * *

The oxygen tube was removed. The I.V. was taken out of her arm. She remained hooked up to the heart monitor, but that was fine. The beeping was soothing, in an odd sort of way

But…she was bored.

Bored? She'd never been bored before. She was always a constant flurry. When she had those few moments of free time on her schedule, they were well spent. Even "doing nothing time" was spent doing nothing—which was doing something. Now she just felt useless. She'll have to ask Plutarch for books, puzzles, _anything_ to pass the time until she was deemed fit to get out of this hospital bed.

She heard the door to her room open. Oh, good. She'll get to ask Plutarch now.

_Oh_.

If the increase in _-beeps-_ were any indication, that was most certainly not Plutarch.

Haymitch closed the door and leaned back on it. They regarded each other with blank looks, neither betraying what the other was thinking (except for Effie's heart monitor).

They continued to watch each other as he walked over and sat in the chair next to her bed—silver eyes meeting navy ones. "Haymitch."

He nodded. "Hey there, sweetheart."

Effie blinked. "You're really not dead?"

Something in his eyes softened. "No. No, I'm really not dead."

Effie let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She turned her hand over, palm facing the ceiling.

Haymitch scooted his chair closer to her bed. Carefully, hesitantly, he put his hand in hers. As soon as their skin touched, he roughly pulled her to him, holding her as tightly as he had that night he had his nightmare. Effie returned the hug, with no intention of ever letting go. _Heaven above, she missed his touch_. She heard a strange noise and found that she was sobbing hysterically.

Haymitch rubbed soothing circles in her back. "Sh, sweetheart," he whispered. "I'm right here." Haymitch buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. Effie flinched when she felt something hot and wet tickle her neck and realized that Haymitch was crying as well. Silently, but crying all the same.

Haymitch never cried.

This only made Effie sob harder, making Haymitch hold her tighter. "I'm right here, Effie. It's alright. It's over now."

She hoped with everything in her that it was.

* * *

Effie didn't see Haymitch again. She couldn't say she was surprised. He had a Rebellion to handle. And this was just what they did. They showed the other they cared, then they treated each other like pariahs until the next moment happened.

It sucked.

* * *

The war was finally over. Coin was dead. Snow was dead. Paylor was President. Katniss was proclaimed mentally unstable and sent back to District Twelve.

Along with Haymitch.

And she was going back to the Capitol. After all, it was home.

* * *

They didn't say goodbye to each other. It was too painful.

* * *

"Everything is just peachy keen, as usual!"

"That's great, Effie."

"In fact, you'd love what they've done with the Capitol. It seems as if everything has taken a deep, deep, deep cleansing breath!"

"Yeah. Effie, I'm calling to tell you that Katniss and I are getting married."

"Oh! Well, it's about time, I'd say! I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you…. We'd really like you to be here, as a witness. It would mean a lot to us."

"I'm honored, really. But I don't know if I'd be able to travel all that way. I've been very busy and—"

"I know you miss him, Effie."

"…Yes, well, my reasoning still stands."

"He loves you, you know."

"Then he can tell me that himself. Until then, goodbye."

* * *

"Effie! We're so glad you could make it. It really means a lot to us."

Effie smiled tightly as she entered Peeta's house. Somehow they had convinced her to come down and see their toasting. Quite frankly, she didn't understand the strange custom, but they were the only family she had left. She'll sit through the foreign ceremony for them.

Peeta gave her a warm smile and a hug as he shut the door behind her. He seemed to be doing well. She was glad. Katniss gave her a friendly nod, and Effie smiled back—genuinely this time.

"It's good to see you, Effie," Katniss said, the tiniest smile gracing her scarred face.

"And you." Effie clasped her hands together. "So, when's the big, big day?"

Peeta laughed, grateful for the familiarity. "In two days. We'll pick up the certificates tomorrow."

Effie grinned. "Wonderful. What's on the agenda for today?"

Peeta scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Actually, right now, I have a few things to take care of at the bakery. We've got a lot of things to take care of before the toasting, and I need to finish it all before it starts to overwhelm me. Katniss volunteered to help, so we'll both be gone for the day."

Katniss furrowed her brows and looked at Peeta. "I did?"

Peeta nodded to her. "You did. So let's go." He took her hand and opened the door. Katniss walked out, mumbling something about impulsive bakers. "Effie, your room is upstairs, the first door on the left. Sorry I can't show you myself, but you know. 'Busy, busy, busy!'" He gave her a wave then shut the door.

Effie stared at the door feeling strangely alone. She sighed and headed up the stairs. Maybe she'll take a nap. She was a little tired from traveling all that way. As she opened the door to her room, she was met with a surprise on the other side.

Haymitch was staring out the window in the wall across from the door. His hands were gripping the window sill, a bottle next to them.

"Oh," she said, startled.

Haymitch turned. "Hey, princess." He jerked his head to the side, gesturing her to join him at the window.

She complied. "I'm sorry, do I have the wrong room?" she asked when she reached him.

"Nope. This is yours."

"Okay, then."

They both looked out the window. It faced the Victor's Village gates. Through them, you could see the thriving District bustling with newcomers and veterans. People were talking, and children were laughing. It showed the promise of a bright future ahead of the New Panem. It made Effie smile.

"So how have you been?"

Effie glanced at Haymitch to see him take a drink. Well, there were _some_ things that would never change. "I've been well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Good. I'm raising geese."

Effie snorted. "Geese?"

"Eh…yeah. They kind of just don't leave me alone." Haymitch gave her a crooked smile. "Sort of like you."

Effie raised her eyebrow. "Did you just compare me to poultry, Mr. Abernathy?"

He shrugged. "You both make an awful lot of noise. Seems fitting to me."

"Hmph. Well." Effie returned to staring out the window. They were silent for a few minutes.

"I see you ditched the wigs."

Effie automatically brought a hand up to her uncovered hair. "I did, yes."

"Good." Haymitch tugged a piece of her hair. "I always liked you better without them." He took another drink. "I've always wondered. Why silver?"

She remained silent.

"Effie?"

She took a deep breath. She might as well. She already came all the way out here. It's not like it could do any more harm. Worst case scenario, they'd never speak again. They were practically already there before she came for the toasting. "Because…" She blushed like a teenager. "Because it matched your eyes." She refused to gauge his reaction.

She felt him run his fingers through her silver tresses. "It's nice."

She turned and smiled at him. His face was uncharacteristically tender. "Thank you." She leaned into his touch. He didn't draw away this time. "I've missed you, you miserable drunk."

He chuckled and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart."

* * *

**Whew! Never intended for it to be this long. When I first began, it was a little diddy (The Trinket conversation, as a matter of fact). I thought it would be maybe fifteen pages, and take two hours max. Yeah, no. It took me four days and ended up being seventy-seven pages. Haymitch and Effie just wouldn't shut up!**

**Fun Facts: Argentium is the Latin name for silver, which is where we get the symbol Ag to represent silver in the periodic table. Also, I based Haymitch's hair affixation off of two of my friends that DO have this type of "turn-on." One has a fix for playing with other girls' hair, and the other likes his hair played with. So I combined the two and got Haymitch! Effie's torture was inspired by three things: a fanfic on here called "Twenty Four Victors, Twenty Four Tributes" by aimmyarrowshigh (wonderful fic, I recommend), a book I read called "A Voice in the Wind" by Francing Rivers, and one of the ten plagues sent to Pharaoh in the story of Moses. I was originally going to use Chinese bamboo torture (forcefully inserting bamboo underneath the victim's fingernails resulting in excruciating pain), but I needed an excuse for Effie's vacant stare mentioned in Mockingjay. My mind repeatedly went to the toll complete and utter darkness had on one's psyche. I think it worked out better.**

**Thank you all for reading! Constructive criticism is GREATLY appreciated! Especially concerning their characterization. I figured I could take a few liberties since we only get Katniss's point of view on the two. Yeah... I'm also thinking of adding Haymitch's viewpoint as another "chapter," depending on the response I get to this one. Haymitch had a few things to say to my Muse as I was writing Argentium. What do you guys think?**

**Anywho, please review, and thank you again! I hope you liked it. :)  
-Lullaby-**


	2. Silver Lining: Haymitch

**It's finally here! And I want you to know...This is one-hundred and eleven pages.**

**That's a long friggin' one-shot.**

**I really hope the length doesn't turn you all off. I hope you'll read it completely through, whether in one sitting or throughout a few days. Let me tell you, Haymitch was NOT easy to write. But I did my best. I hope you all like it. I'll have more to say at the end. :)**

**Fixed the awful typos. Let me know if you catch any more!**

**UPDATE (6/26/12): If any of you are curious as to what music plays in my head during this segment, I made a playlist! The link is on my tumblr.**

**For now, Enjoy!**

* * *

_Title: Silver Lining (Argentium Part II)  
__Summary: A look at the hidden moments between Effie and Haymitch throughout their career. In Haymitch's POV.  
Rating: T for language and mild sexuality  
Pairings: Hayffie; minor mentions and insinuations of Haysilee; Haymitch/His Girl  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

* * *

Haymitch Abernathy's feet were slow and his heart was heavy as he trudged out of the Justice Building and on his way back to the Seam. He lazily slung his monthly sack of tesserae over his shoulder. This was an especially difficult haul. It was no different than his usual amount, and if he survived the Reaping, it certainly wouldn't be his last. It wasn't any heavier than his past tesserae. But the implication of what it meant caused the sack to feel like it weighed as much as that obese Peacekeeper who sold it to him—all two hundred and forty-five pounds of him. Each step caused the sack to feel heavier, taunting him of what this year's Hunger Games truly meant.

This year's Games were the Second Quarter Quell. And twice as many Tributes were going to be thrown into that arena this year. That means everyone's chances of being Reaped were doubled. Add that to the tesserae that Haymitch had to take out…

Haymitch gritted his teeth. _No_. He wouldn't think like that. He needed this tesserae—_they_ needed this tesserae. He was the provider for his family. And if taking out tesserae meant that it would keep his mother and Glenn alive then Haymitch will _take it_.

* * *

The first time he noticed—really noticed—Maysilee Donner, Haymitch was thirteen, fresh out of puberty. He'd known her since primary school. But when he walked into the Donner candy shop to get the rare treat for little Glenn's birthday, he felt as if his eyes were opened for the first time.

Maysilee had always been friendly to him. Both of the Donner twins had. Yet Maysilee had a spark of fire in her that Marjorie could never possess. It was something Haymitch admired about her. And when she smiled at him when he entered the shop, he felt his face grow hot, like she transferred some of her fire into him.

"Hey, Haymitch! What are you doing here?" she chirped.

"Hi, Maysilee," he answered roughly. Ever since his voice began changing, he liked to make it as gruff as possible. It made him sound manly instead of squeaky. "I'm here to get a present for Glenn. His birthday is next week."

Maysilee's smile widened, a twinkle in her eye. "I didn't know mean Haymitch Abernathy had a soft spot." She only laughed at the look he gave her. "I'm just teasing. Have a look around!"

Haymitch raised an eyebrow. He took his time looking at the array of colorful sweets and oblong jars. After debating in his mind for five minutes, he finally decided on a sack of jellybeans. Glenn will like the colors.

Maysilee grinned and complimented his choice. Haymitch couldn't help but think that she was probably the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. He didn't know how he hadn't seen it before. She had glittering blue eyes, continuously alive with that spark of fire in her. She didn't care about the divisions between the Seam and Town. She had milky-white skin, not calloused from hard labor. And her hair…

Haymitch didn't think hair could be so fascinating. Hair was such a normal concept. But as Haymitch watched Maysilee scoop the jelly beans into a small bag, he felt himself transfixed as her wavy tresses fell over her shoulder, rippling with each movement.

It looked like liquid gold, as costly and untouchable as a Town girl for any boy from the Seam.

* * *

During the week before the Reaping, Haymitch spent whatever free time he had (when he wasn't playing with Glenn or cooking with Mom) with his girl. If there was any way to assuage the dark cloud that seemed to be looming over everyone, it was his Violet.

Haymitch would be the first to admit that he loved Violet with everything in him. He didn't think there was anyone he loved more. Yet, and Violet would be the first to admit _this_, they both knew they weren't _in love_ with each other. They grew up with each other. Their mothers were best friends since childhood. And they were so close in age, with Violet only a year younger, that they were constantly around each other. He didn't think there was a secret left uncovered between the two of them.

Violet was the only one who knew the truth about Haymitch's father. Most people thought he and Glenn were bastard children, from two different men. But Violet knew that Corbin Ruck was a brutal drunk who left shortly after Glenn was born because "he didn't want another mouth to feed." It was shortly before Haymitch was to start primary school. Corbin had taken one look at newborn Glenn, threw a bottle at the wall, then claimed he was leaving forever. He barely made it a mile past the fence when the Peacekeepers found him and shot him on the spot. Haymitch hadn't shed one tear.

Haymitch knew that Violet was most ticklish behind her ears. He knew that her favorite color was green, her favorite toy was a spinning top her father made for her, and her favorite day was Thursday (because that was art day at school). Her first crush was Alder Hawthorne. Her first kiss was with himself behind the schoolhouse when she was fourteen. Most importantly, he knew that her mother, her only relative after her father died in a mine explosion when she was just a toddler, died of a terminal illness the year before.

Her mother's death was when their relationship began. Violet's mother was like a second mother to him. Just before she died, he made a vow to her that he would protect Violet. He'd always watch out for her. No harm was ever going to come to her only child. Violet came to live with the Abernathies soon after her mother passed on. A month later was the kiss—her first, his third. They made it official shortly after.

Haymitch knew that Violet wasn't in love with him, either. They even had a conversation about it. But they both agreed that if they were to ever be in a relationship with anyone, they would rather it be with each other. They meant the world to each other. They completed each other—two halves of the same whole. Haymitch was crass and arrogant, Violet was sassy and not afraid to put Haymitch in his place (which she did on an hourly basis). They talked of rebellion, of a different Panem. They talked of a life without the Hunger Games. These conversations solidified his undying respect and admiration for his best friend.

So even though he wasn't _in love_ with Violet, Haymitch loved her more than he was sure he could love anyone. He didn't think that he could live without her in his life. She didn't set his heart racing like Maysilee nor did he feel hot passion around her, but her kisses were warm and gentle, her touch soothing. And if they both survived until the age of nineteen, Haymitch had every intention of marrying her.

* * *

When they called Haymitch Abernathy's name as the last male Tribute for District Twelve, Haymitch didn't think he would ever find his breath again.

* * *

Haymitch's least favorite part of the Games as a whole would definitely have to be the farewells before he was whisked away to the Capitol. His mother, the strongest woman he knew, was reduced to tears. Glenn hadn't said a word, only hugged Haymitch tightly around his waist. Haymitch was proud of the little man. Haymitch silently promised himself that he would give everything he had into the Games. He would fight for Glenn, for his mother. If he couldn't win, then he would at least make them proud.

Violet came in by herself for her farewell. Her eyes were shining, but her face was clean of any wet streaks. Haymitch stared at her, his jaw locked. What could he say? The last important man in her life was about to be thrown into the face of almost certain death. And with twice as many Tributes? The odds were not in his favor.

He was about to pull her in for a hug when she punched him in the arm. Not hard, but enough to startle him. "What was that for, Vi?"

She crossed her arms. "Because you already look like you've given up. Don't try to correct me, Mitchy, I _know_ you. How could you do this to me?"

Haymitch gaped at her. He was about to go off into the Hunger Games, and she was trying to lecture him? "What are you talking about?"

She snorted. "Oh, you'll try. You'll try to last as long as you can. But you won't try to _win_."

He frowned. "In case you've forgotten, Vi, there are going to be forty-eight Tributes. _Forty-eight_. Our only Victor was forty years ago. Our only Victor _died_ eleven years ago. So newsflash, I'm going into that arena without a mentor."

Violet thinned her lips, but she was pulling at her earlobe—her unconscious signal that she was holding back the waterworks. "And that gives you a reason to give up?"

"Let me reiterate since you didn't get it the first time: _Forty-eight Tributes_, Violet. Twice as many as every other year before."

She shrugged. "That just means they're twice as stupid." She sighed. "Haymitch, you're smart. You could get through it. You could win. But that's _only_ if you fight to win. Don't fight to try, fight to win. Win for Glenn, for Annika, for _me_." She swallowed. Haymitch knew she wouldn't be able to hold her tears much longer. This was how she usually dealt with emotion. She would lash out in anger, then she would break down. "Will you win for me, sweetheart?"

Haymitch softened at their favorite nickname. She was right, of course. She _did_ know him. He wouldn't win unless he fought to win. "Yeah," he answered softly. "I'll win for you, sweetheart."

Violet threw herself at him. He caught her easily, squeezing her for all he was worth, inhaling her sweet scent. He _will_ win. He'll win to give his mother the comfort she deserves. He'll win for Glenn so that he won't have to worry about taking tesserae—he'll have as little slips in the Reaping ball as possible. He'll win for Violet, so he could come back to her.

"Vi," he whispered, his voice too thick with emotion. He would only let himself be vulnerable around _her_. "Vi, when I come back—I _will_ come back—will you marry me?"

She scoffed into his chest, trying to keep her tough skin through her wet whimpers. "You're proposing to me _now_, Mitchy?"

Haymitch smirked. "Hey, if I have to win for you, I want to make sure I'll still have you when I come back." It didn't matter that she would still be eligible for the Games for another two years. He wanted as much of her as he could get should something ever happen.

Violet stepped back and looked up at him. Her clear blue-grey eyes—an interesting mutation for a Seam kid—sparkling with emotion and promise. "Mitchy, when you win, I will marry you the next _day_."

Haymitch swept her up and kissed her hard. This was the first time the other felt heated passion in a kiss. It wasn't spine-tingling, but it was a vow of forever. They latched onto each other, drinking in everything they could of the other before they would be parted for the longest period of time in their lives—both figuratively and literally.

They were forced to break apart when the Peacekeepers barged in. Haymitch held her face in his hands. "I love you, Violet."

She grasped his hands with her own. She smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye, and whispered, "Then show those Capitol morons what you're made of, sweetheart."

* * *

Haymitch wasn't necessarily happy about his alliance with Maysilee. He saw firsthand that she was as lethal as she was beautiful. But she saved his life. Because of her, he still has a chance to make it home to Violet. So he'll stick with this alliance until he gets a chance to save Maysilee's life.

He owes her.

* * *

It got harder each day to tell himself that he would eventually break the alliance. He had to repeatedly tell himself, _Only until you save her life_. Each day he would notice something different about her. First it was the alluring way her hips swung as they walked to the potential end of the arena. Then it was the light dust of freckles covering her arms and her face. Pretty soon it was her face in general. She was just so…breathtaking. Which was ironic, since she literally could take his breath permanently away from him with one of her poisonous darts.

The worst was at night. Maysilee had a tendency to snuggle. It made him wonder if she and Marjorie had to share a room. He couldn't say that he _minded_ it when she snuggled up next to him. That was the problem.

He liked it a little too much.

* * *

When the remembrance of owing Maysilee wasn't enough for Haymitch, he had to constantly think of Violet.

It helped a little.

* * *

Haymitch was both elated and furious when Maysilee broke off their alliance.

He was happy because _he_ didn't have to end it, nor would he be forced to kill this fiery blonde. He was furious because if he were ever going to win, someone else would have to kill her. The very thought of someone taking her life made his blood boil. If anyone were to win, he'd want it to be her.

But that wasn't possible. _He_ was going to win.

He was going home to Mom, Glenn, and Violet.

* * *

As Haymitch watched Maysilee walk away from the cliff, something in his gut told him to call her back.

He tossed a rock over the cliff instead.

* * *

Haymitch could feel his heart tighten with each of Maysilee's dying breaths. He held her hand through her pain. His eyes never left her face as he watched, horrified, as blood seeped from her neck and into her hair—crimson mixed with gold.

"Haymitch," she gurgled. She coughed up blood from the effort.

"I'm right here, sweetheart." He didn't know why he called her that. It was usually reserved for Violet.

"Win for me, Haymitch," she whispered. It wasn't loud enough for the cameras to pick up, but it was loud enough for him to catch. Haymitch squeezed her hand in reply as she took her last breath.

* * *

He knows he killed Maysilee. He should have called her back. He should have listened to his gut. He found it strangely fitting as he held his guts to keep from spilling out as he raced to the cliff. He only had one shot at this, just one.

And if he ended up dying in the process, then he was going to die where he killed Maysilee.

He owed her, after all.

* * *

Haymitch was barely conscious when they announced his name as the winner of the Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games. When he passed out, he was surprised to find that he didn't dream of returning home to Violet, but to Maysilee.

* * *

The first time Haymitch can ever remember crying was the day he got home from the Capitol. He cried as he held Violet close to him. Seeing him cry caused her own tears to come gushing forth. They only let go of each other so that he could greet his Mom and Glenn. But as soon as those greetings were finished, he attached Violet to his hip. He made sure he was touching her in some way for the rest of the day.

For the first time since he won the Quarter Quell last week, he felt _safe_. He felt home. It solidified in his mind that marrying Violet the next day was going to be the best decision of his life.

* * *

He had his first nightmare that night. During his recovery in the Capitol, his medications hindered any dream activity. Here in his new home in the Victor's Village, there was nothing to staunch the terrifying images behind his eyelids. Maysilee's death was being replayed over and over and over…

He woke up screaming her name. Violet was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at him with tortured blue-grey eyes. When she saw he was awake, she crawled over to him and cradled his head in her lap. She stroked her fingers through his sweat-matted curls, the way she knew he liked.

He grasped her other hand, thankful for her presence. The minute they had bid each other good night, he knew it was going to be rough. He just didn't think it was going to be _this_ rough.

They stayed silent as Haymitch tried to catch his breath. When she stopped playing with his hair, he looked up at her curiously. She was gazing down at him, her face a mixture between understanding and devastation. "Did you love her, Haymitch?" she murmured. "Did you fall in love with Maysilee?"

Haymitch's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Did he love Maysilee? He could honestly say that no, he didn't love her. He knew he liked her. If he were honest with himself, he's had a crush on her since that day in the candy shop three years ago. But he wasn't in love with her. However, had there been some way they both could have made it through the Games, he knows he probably would have eventually.

He sat up to look Violet straight in her eyes. "Violet, I'm not in love with Maysilee." He sighed. He never did like when they had these conversations. He forced himself to be honest with her. "But if she had made it out with me, I would have fallen in love her, yes."

Violet nodded. She wasn't angry. She bit her lip and averted her gaze to the side. "Haymitch, I think we should hold off getting married for a while."

_What_? Haymitch grabbed her chin and brought her face to meet his. "Vi, even if I had fallen in love with Maysilee, nothing, _nothing_ would make me change my mind about marrying you." He kissed her forehead and leaned his against hers. "Sweetheart, even if I could have any girl on this earth, I would still choose you no matter what."

Violet laced her fingers through his. "I know you would, Mitchy. I'm not questioning that. I wouldn't spend my life with anyone else, either. Even if Alder Hawthorne were to propose to me right here, right now." Haymitch chuckled. "I'm not saying we shouldn't get married at all. I'm saying we should postpone it for a bit. The Games have changed you, sweetheart."

Haymitch frowned. "I can't do anything about that, Violet."

"I'm not asking you to do anything about it. And they'll never leave you either. I just think it will be better for your health if we wait a little while. I don't want to add the stress of married life to what you're going through right now." Violet smirked. "And we both know how tough I am to deal with."

Haymitch matched her smirk and tickled her behind the ear. "How are you always right, Vi?"

She laughed and swatted his hand away. "Because I'm awesome, that's why."

Haymitch grunted in affirmation. He laid back down on his bed, pulling her with him. He kissed her tenderly, loving the way she fit so well next to him. "How about we get married once the Victory tour is over? The tour starts next week, and they last a week. We'll get married two weeks from today. How does that sound?"

Violet smiled. "Fine with me. I find it funny how enamored the Capitol is with you. So enamored they demanded the Tour start six months earlier than usual. I wonder, is it because you're Twelve's first Victor in forty years, or because you won the Second Quarter Quell?"

He shrugged. "Probably both. Those idiots will do anything for a good story. And mine is riddled with drama." He rolled his eyes.

Violet regarded him a minute. "You know, I bet if you and Maysilee _were_ in love from the start of the Games, they probably would have let her come home with you."

"Vi, I already told you I'd still mar—"

She poked him hard in the stomach, glaring at him. "I know that, and I said I believed you! But hear me out, okay? You said yourself that those idiots will do anything for a good story. What better story is there than two star-crossed lovers from the same District? Imagine it—a love story doomed from the start. They'd eat that shit up!"

Haymitch sighed. "They would."

"I just bet you they would have let you both come home. Twice the Tributes, twice the Victors if you were in love. It'd be perfect. I wonder why no one has done it before?"

Haymitch snorted. "I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe because no one has been in love? Not to mention, two Victors would drive President Snow up a wall."

"Speaking of which, has he punished you yet for the stunt you pulled with axe girl? You know, for using the Capitol's own weapon against them?"

Haymitch furrowed his brows. "No, they haven't."

Violet yawned and burrowed herself deeper into Haymitch. He tightened his hold in response. "If they haven't yet, then they won't. And if they do, I'll be right here with you. As Violet _Abernathy_."

He smiled into her pixie-short hair. "Hm, I rather like the sound of that, sweetheart."

* * *

She wouldn't go through it all with him.

She wouldn't be Violet Abernathy.

She was dead.

* * *

The day he got back from the Victory tour, Haymitch found her murdered in front of the fireplace, his mother and Glenn next to her in the same state. They'd been shot clean through the head. In Violet's hands was a loaf of bread with a note attached to it.

_My congratulations to the happy couple. I wish you both every happiness in your marriage. –President Snow_

* * *

Haymitch swore to himself as he buried mother—eyes stinging with dirt and unshed tears—that he was going to get revenge on Snow for doing this to him. Somehow he was going to bring the Capitol down.

He was going to start a Rebellion. He was going to start a war.

And he was going to win for Violet.

* * *

Haymitch genuinely tried to help his first pair of Tributes during the Fifty-First Annual Hunger Games. They were both strong, for a seventeen- and eighteen-year old from the Seam. He even vaguely knew them from school.

Haymitch was smart. He knew they were missing the spirit necessary to bring about a Victory. But that didn't stop him from pouring his soul into mentoring the two kids.

They didn't make it past the Cornucopia.

* * *

That night, Haymitch finally understood why his father favored the bottle so much.

* * *

Haymitch doesn't remember much from his first meeting with Effie Trinket. He'd heard there was going to be a new escort, but frankly, he didn't care. He was rip-roaring drunk—just the way he liked it.

He must have been more inebriated than he thought, because when she said hello to him and the new Mayor Undersee, the only thing Haymitch could think was, _Why in the hell is there a giant vegetable talking to me_?

* * *

He couldn't stand his new escort. What was her name? Emmy? Ellie? Heifer? Whichever, she was annoying, she talked too much, and she dressed absolutely ridiculously. She was the typical Capitol moron he despised so much. He couldn't understand how the ugly green ensemble—the same outfit she wore a month prior—was considered fashionable.

"The green look again?"

The escort blinked at him through her reflection in the mirror. Her hands were on her green wig. The wig was big and curly—it reminded him of the head of an asparagus.

"Yes, Mr. Abernathy," she said, looking down and putting her hands on her stomach, "the green look. What's wrong with it?"

Heaven above, what _wasn't_ wrong with it? Haymitch took a drink from his bottle and laughed. "Seriously, Ellie? You look like an asparagus."

She huffed. "I thought it was broccoli," she muttered under her breath.

Was that what he called her the first time? He couldn't remember. Oh well, asparagus fit better than broccoli, especially with that hair. "Nah." He tugged her wig. It fell to one side, causing the escort to screech and rush to fix it. She looked so ridiculous, he laughed again. "Asparagus suits you more."

She gawked at him, confusion evident all over her face. "Are you kidding around with me, Haymitch?"

Oh, she totally walked into this next one. He smirked. "I never play with my food, sweetheart." He let out one last laugh at her expression. He took a long swig from his bottle and walked out to the stage in the Square. The sooner he could get this Reaping over with, the better.

* * *

Emmy-Ellie-Heifer was obnoxiously persistent. She always tried to have conversation with him. She would constantly nag him about his alcohol. This only made him drink more to tune out that awful shrill of hers. Once she asked what his father would think if he saw Haymitch today.

That one almost worked.

Haymitch stared at the escort before stumbling into his room, armed with two more bottles. As he chugged the clear liquid of one bottle, he wondered if he really allowed himself to become as bad as his drunkard father.

_Nah. Haymitch was worse than Corbin_.

Corbin, at least, never killed anyone.

* * *

Three years after the new escort came was Haymitch's first clue that his drinking had gotten way out of hand. He couldn't find the drinks. Anywhere. It was as if they had completely vanished.

He _needed_ those drinks.

Haymitch tore the dining cart apart. He threw chairs, turned tables, and flung glass. He cut his hand open with one of the shards. He needed to find them, he needed to find them…Where were they?

"What on earth is going on here?"

Haymitch whirled around. The escort was standing in the middle of the doorway, hands on her hips and taking in her chaotic surroundings. "You!" he growled, pointing a bloody finger in her direction. _Of course_! She must have done something. "Where are my drinks?"

She crossed her arms. "There are none. I specifically requested that there be no alcohol on this train."

He felt himself begin to shake. Whether it was out of rage or the thought of there being absolutely nothing on this train, he wasn't sure. "You. Did. What?"

"I banned the alcohol. It's about time—"

Haymitch shoved her against the wall of the cart before she could finish that sentence. This crazy lady was clearly looking for a death wish, and he was going to give her one. He held her in place with his left arm, his right hand holding his knife inches away from her face. He tilted the blade upward, a signal that he wasn't going to hurt her…yet.

"You get me my drinks _now_, Ellie, or I swear…"

Fear was written all over her face. Good. Maybe she'll listen to him. "No," she said, a waver in her voice. "You need to be sober for these Tributes. They've a terrible case of stage fright, and being drunk—"

Haymitch laughed. It sounded crazy and dripping with venom. Was she serious? "You think these kids are terrified because they have _stage fright_?" He let go of her, shaking his head. "Geez, woman, you really are an idiot."

She pursed her lips, the orange lipstick leaving crinkles on the skin. "Don't you dare insult me, Mr. Abernathy." Haymitch rolled his eyes. "I've about had it with your poor etiquette! Half of the reason I hid those disgusting drinks were for you to learn some proper manners!" She took a deep breath. "Now, I know you haven't been raised in the most established surroundings, but I'm willing to offer my assistance if you just—"

Haymitch swore. Now she was going to criticize where he was from? She shouldn't be talking. Look at where _she_ was raised! And she had the gall to assume he'd want etiquette lessons from _her_? "You think I care about your stupid Capitol _manners_?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Get me my drinks. Or you'll regret it."

Effie put her hands on her hips. "I will not! You will be sober this year, and you will like it!"

Haymitch punched the wall next to her face. "Dammit, Ellie!" He walked away, kicking various debris. This woman was going to be the death of him.

"My name is _Effie_, Haymitch! _Effie_! Not Ellie, Effie!"

Like that was any better? He turned to look at her, halfway out the door. "Yeah, well, you know what, Effie?" He flipped her the bird. "'Eff you!" With that, he walked out of the cart.

Haymitch knew his comeback was lame. It made him sound like a ten-year-old afraid to swear. He let out a string of swear words for good measure. He blamed it on his sobriety.

* * *

Haymitch almost killed an Avox. His nightmare was _that_ intense. He had thought the Avox was the crazy axe girl, waiting to impale him with a spear him like she impaled Glenn in his sleep.

At the next stop, Effie brought him a bottle of the finest wine the Capitol could offer.

He wasn't sure if he should be thankful or ashamed.

* * *

Haymitch heard Effie sigh as he took a deep drink from his bottle. Both Tributes died at the initial bloodbath. "Those poor dears," she breathed.

Haymitch snorted into his bottle. Oh, like she really cared. "Try not to get any of your fake tears on the monitor, sweetheart."

Effie glared at him. "I mean it, Haymitch." She gestured towards the screen that showed both fallen Tributes, mangled and bloody. "I've never seen any two Tributes with such a bad state of stage fright. I could have helped one of them if they had become Victors. I would help them gain confidence. That stage fright is probably what got them killed in the first place. They knew there were cameras in the arena, and they didn't know how to fight with millions of people watching."

Haymitch looked at her as if she had sprouted three horns on top of her red wig. Although, in the Capitol, that may not be entirely implausible. "What is wrong with you, woman? You really think those kids were afraid of a few cameras?"

Effie looked down her nose at him. "Well, honestly, Haymitch. Why else would they be afraid?"

Haymitch legitimately couldn't believe what he was hearing. This woman _truly_ thought these kids… Did she even _try_ to… Haymitch could feel the heat from his glare. "That's it," he growled. He roughly grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her along with him. She yelled and hurled insults at him as he dragged her through the building, and finally, out on the sidewalk and into an alley. He released her with a shove. She looked like she was about to give him a lecture, but he silenced her with another glare.

"I've had it with your superior attitude," he said in a harsh whisper. He didn't want this to be picked up by too many passersby. "It's bad enough that you Capitol citizens watch these Games for pure entertainment, but to not even attempt to understand the trauma these kids go through is disgusting on too many levels."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

He threw his hands up. "They're fighting for their lives, Effie! Their _lives_!"

Effie frowned, fingering the frilly collar of her dress. "They are fighting for the _Capitol_. It is an honor to be representing Panem in such a fashion."

"You call children murdering other children an honor?" It was taking a lot of self-control for him to keep his voice low.

Effie glared. "These Tributes have the opportunity—"

That word. _Tributes_. Did she even realize how young they were? "They're children, Effie! Say it with me. _Children_." Haymitch shook his head. "They'll never get to grow up. They'll die before they get to taste adulthood. Most of them can't even _dream_ of becoming an adult because _your_ precious Capitol could take their lives away in a blink." Effie flinched. "That little boy from District Twelve won't even get to be a teenager. Most of them will never get the chance to fall in love, get married, raise a family. But who would want to raise a family when their _children_ could be stripped from them?"

That wasn't entirely true. He was a Victor, and he never got the chance to marry and raise a family.

Effie took a deep, shaking breath. "That may be, Haymitch. But the sacrifice of patriotism was never said to be small."

Haymitch's face hardened. _Patriotism_. "You really are stupid." He raised a hand to stop her protests. "Fine. If you can't see it that way, think of another. Do you have any younger siblings?"

Effie crossed her arms, a sour expression worming its way onto her countenance. "Yes. I have a younger brother whom I love more than anything."

Haymitch sneered. "Imagine that." Something they once had in common. Who would have thought? "Fine, then. When we get back in the spectator lounge find a Tribute to represent your brother. Maybe then you'll get a taste of what it's like to have someone you love taken from you and knowing there's nothing you can do to stop it."

* * *

Effie's scream of pain hurt Haymitch a lot more than he'd care to admit.

"Hope your eyes have finally opened, sweetheart."

Effie couldn't look at Haymitch. He shook his head and opened a new bottle of something. He didn't care what it was at the moment. He thought he would feel better now that Effie seemed to have finally seen the potential horror in this sick ritual. It only made him feel worse. He felt like he tore something from her, like he stole her innocence.

_No_. He wouldn't regret this. She needed to understand. It was good for her.

* * *

"Look, Eff, I know you hate it when I make fun of your obvious obsession with Seneca Crane. But when you leave a shirtless picture of him with a purple lipstick mark in plain sight, you're really just asking for it."

* * *

Haymitch found it amusing how little liquor Effie could hold. He's seen her tipsy a few times in the four years he's worked with her. It didn't take much to get her there. She was even more annoying tipsy. Her voice got higher, if that were possible, and the slur in her Capitol accent was unattractive.

But when Effie was flat-out drunk, she was hilarious. She's only been completely smashed around him once. Haymitch was fortunate enough to have been oddly sober during that very special time. Normal, uptight Effie Trinket was reduced to an almost manner-less blur of yellow.

"You know," she slurred, her head rolling to the side to look at Haymitch. They were sitting on the couch. Haymitch had thought it safer to place her there after she almost tripped five times in those stupid shoes of hers. "I think I can see why you're like this all the time, Haymitch."

Haymitch smirked. He wondered if she knew he was actually in his right mind for once. "Oh, yeah, sweetheart?"

She hiccupped. "Yeah! It makes me feel all loosey-goosey!" She wiggled her arms in front of her for extra effect.

Haymitch snorted. Leave it to Effie to use a phrase like "loosey-goosey." "Just try not to fly away, alright?"

It really wasn't that funny. But to drunk Effie, it was apparently the funniest thing she had ever heard. She cracked up, her laugh deep and guttural. She laughed from the top of her ugly wig to the tip of her polished toes. For the first time since he met Effie, Haymitch found himself smiling genuinely at her. He liked it when she acted like a normal human being. It was refreshing. He only wished she would act more like this when she wasn't intoxicated.

He vaguely wondered if this was how she felt when the tables were turned. When _he_ was drunk and _she_ was sober. He doubted she found the flush in his cheeks attractive; he found hers strangely appealing.

* * *

"You really need a haircut. This ridiculous length of yours makes you look unkempt!"

"Yeah, like _you_ should be talking to me about how to wear my hair, princess."

* * *

He wasn't sure why, but Haymitch loved to watch Effie while she slept. Not in a creepy way. He wouldn't purposely go to her room and _stare_ at her while she slept like some psychotic stalker. No, what Haymitch loved was when she accidentally fell asleep. It would happen at random moments, usually during the lulls in the Games. Their Tributes typically died early, leaving plenty of time to catch up on some shut-eye that they may have missed during weeks prior.

There was just something so…so _fascinating_ about a sleeping Effie. It's really the only time she had her mouth shut. She wasn't nagging him, she wasn't running her mouth in an attempt to calm the children, and she wasn't blabbering about some nonsense going on in the Capitol—as if he cared. This was the only time that the little lady was _still_.

Maybe that was why he liked to watch her. She was usually a flurry of movement, never in one place long enough for him to get a good look at her. When she was sleeping, he could look at her until she woke up. Luckily for him, she had a tell-tale sign that she was about to wake up. She would twitch her nose and squeeze her eyelids before she would return to the realm of the living. He would quickly avert his eyes before she caught him.

Tonight was a particularly interesting observation. It was the night before the launch, and Effie had been exhausted when she and Haymitch sat in front of the television to watch the recap of the Reapings, Opening Ceremony, and Interviews. She had, according to the girl Tribute, stayed up late to fix a mess Haymitch had apparently made during a drunken rage. He decided not to ask what happened. He had a feeling he didn't want to know.

As he and Effie sat in silence, Haymitch suddenly felt a weight added onto his chest. He looked down in surprise to find that Effie had fallen asleep on him. His eye twitched. This was the only time either of them made physical contact with one another. Well, other than Effie initiating some form of light, scolding slap.

He ached for a drink. Unfortunately, he had finished the last of it the night before. That was probably why he did whatever it was that he did—that was a lot of alcohol to consume. He couldn't even imagine what Effie had to do in order to assuage the offending parties to his stunt. It clearly wore her out. Therefore, he allowed her to stay in her current position.

Besides, she fit rather nicely against him. He looked down at her. She was lying in a diagonal position, the left side of her face primarily using him as a pillow. Her expression was smooth, looking like the epitome of peace and contentment. Haymitch envied her ability to sleep soundly without being plagued by nightmares. She was the very picture of undisturbed innocence. She was young, only twenty-three. But her peaceful slumber caused her to look nineteen. It made her look of innocence stand out all the more prominently.

Haymitch sighed. It didn't do any good to be jealous of someone else's sleeping patterns. He would never wish his nightmares on anyone, particularly someone like Effie Trinket. She was too tender-hearted and fragile to bear the weight those terrors brought. Her peaceful visage was his favorite part about watching her sleep, anyway.

And it was the only time he'd ever admit just how exceptionally pretty he found the Capitol princess.

* * *

"Relax, woman. Don't get your purple polka-dotted panties in a twist."

"…How on earth do you know what my panties look like?"

* * *

The Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games were the roughest for Haymitch. There was a blonde, blue-eyed Tribute from District Six named Melody who looked an awful lot like Maysilee.

That was the first time Haymitch could recall going through an entire Games sober. Sure, he'd been tipsy here and there, but he was never drunk out of his mind. He was always sober enough to be aware of the girl's status. He cared more about her than his two Tributes (he didn't even remember how they died).

To her credit, Effie said nothing to him. He probably wouldn't have been able to answer her. He was too overcome with bitter memories and mind-numbing shame. He was vaguely aware of her watching him, waiting for him to explode.

The arena was hauntingly simple. It was nothing more than a maze of mirrors. If you were in the right corner, you could see your enemy Tributes. But which of the twenty reflections was the real Tribute? If they didn't die from starvation and thirst, they would go mad, smashing the mirrors in hopes of actually killing the Tribute. Some died from blood loss by their own hands.

In the end it came down to Melody and another girl from District Three. The final battle lasted three hours—three agonizing hours. It was mostly chasing and smashing mirrors when, finally, Melody caught Three from behind, shoving her into an already broken mirror. She fell into the shards, blood oozing from her hands and her face when she got up to face Melody. They struggled and wrestled for an hour when Three kicked the tiring Melody in the gut, forcing her on her knees. Three pushed her to the ground and pinned her. Haymitch gripped the arms of his chair. _Come on, sweetheart, come on_!

Melody tried to scratch at Three's bleeding eyes, but it was to no avail. Three took a shard of glass and slit Melody's throat. Haymitch didn't hear the winner's announcement. He could only stare at Melody's lifeless, bleeding corpse—all twenty of them.

Haymitch made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat. He made eye contact with Effie for a moment. She said nothing, only stared at him. Her navy eyes were careful, shining, and full of sympathy. He pushed back his chair and walked out of the spectator lounge in a trance. When the door shut, he was overcome by the memories of his Games. It was all his fault that Maysilee had died. He killed her.

Haymitch shut his eyes, trying to block out the pain. All he saw were twenty dead Melodies, blood gushing from the gash in her neck—crimson mixed with gold.

* * *

Haymitch took three bottles of hard liquor into his room. For once, Effie didn't scold him. Good. He needed to forget. Ne needed to forget the guilt eating him alive. He needed to forget that he was responsible for his mother, for Glenn, for Violet, and for Maysilee. Haymitch needed to forget that he couldn't save Maysilee, that it was because of him she was no longer alive.

Not even the alcohol could quench the nightmares tonight.

* * *

_Haymitch found himself back in the arena, a disgusting mixture of his own and this past Hunger Games'. He was in a circular area, mirrors surrounding him. The mirrors reflected another world—a world of cosmic colors, lush landscapes, and cerulean skies. Everything was gorgeous and deadly._

_ His mother appeared in one of the mirrors. She was running away from something, sheer terror evident in her eyes. Haymitch longed to run after her, to protect his mom from whatever monster was coming after her. His feet were nailed to the floor, blood oozing around the nail heads. He screamed after his mother to run, run, RUN! He knew the monster was coming closer—he could see its shadow. Pretty soon it would be visible…_

_ Haymitch's blood ran cold. The monster…it was _him._ He was almost unrecognizable, but Haymitch knew. His face was contorted with cruelty and hatred. He spat foul names at his mother, words he would never even dare think in her presence. His mother cried, begged, pleaded him to stop. The monster lifted his right arm revealing a glimmering axe. The glint in the blade seemed to erupt into laughter—President Snow's laughter. His mother screamed, chilling and horrifying, only to be cut short as Haymitch swiped it through her neck. A clean cut._

_ Another scream filled the air. Both Haymitches whipped their heads to the opposite mirror. Glenn was on his knees, his arms out-stretched as if to grab his decapitated mother. The monster sneered and through his axe at Glenn. Glenn's mirror shattered into a thousand pieces. The monster cackled. The cackle shattered his own glass. The monster was gone, but his laughter rang throughout Haymitch's mind._

_ "Haymitch!"_

_ Haymitch turned to another mirror. _Maysilee._ She was tied to one of the poisonous trees. The ropes were cutting into her skin, leaving nasty purple and red burns. Her hair was plastered to her head with her blood—not a streak of blonde could be found._

_ He tried to scream her name, but found he couldn't. He felt an agonizing pain cut across his mouth—his tongue had been cut out. He was forcibly transformed into an Avox._

_ "Oh, Mitchy. Cat got your tongue?"_

_ Haymitch looked at the mirror next to Maysilee's. He had to force himself not to vomit. Violet, decaying and rotting, was smirking and holding his tongue in one hand, a bloody knife in the other._

_ Violet glowered. "Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. It's not like you cared about me anyway. After all, you did let me _die."_ Haymitch flinched._

_ Maysilee shouted his name once more. Haymitch tore his eyes from Violet and turned them to the bellowing blonde (now a gory redhead). He forced his gaze back to Violet when she flung his dismembered tongue at his face._

_ "See?" she sneered. "_This_ is why you let me die. You cared more for Maysilee than you ever cared for me. You think I didn't notice, _sweetheart?_ Well, newsflash, Mitchy, you couldn't save her either. You killed her!" Violet smiled maliciously. "And nothing is going to save her now."_

_ Haymitch watched in horror, dying to scream, as Violet lunged toward Maysilee, knife raised high._

* * *

Haymitch woke up with a choking gasp, crying harder than he'd ever cried before. Through his tears he could see the silhouette of a woman standing above his bed. She sounded desperate. She touched his arm. "Haym—"

The gentle touch snapped something in him. He pulled the woman down onto the bed and gripped her tightly, crying hysterically. He didn't know nor did he care who this woman was. All he knew was that he was out of his mind with fear, and he _craved_ human contact. He needed someone to hold onto—he needed someone _real_ to reassure him that his nightmare had been just that. A nightmare, nothing more.

Haymitch molded himself to the woman. He held her tightly to try to stop his shaking. _It wasn't real, it wasn't real._ She wrapped her arms around him as best she could in their horizontal position. "Sh, Haymitch. I'm right here." He shivered as she rubbed his back, her hands moving in soothing circles. Her hands felt like ice. But she was _real_, and she was with him. She wasn't letting him stay alone.

Haymitch continued to sob. He released ten years' worth of shame, guilt, and suppressed emotion. He gasped, he wailed, he wretched. Everything he was feeling, all the terror he saw poured out of him in an episode of childlike abandonment that no person over the age of twelve should ever experience.

He felt like he cried for hours. His head ached, and his stomach lurched. For once, he didn't care. As he tried to catch his breath, the woman pulled back slightly. Inwardly, he panicked. _No, don't go away_! Instead of leaving, she cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. Haymitch wasn't in the best shape mentally, but even completely disturbed, he was floored by how beautiful this mystery woman comforting him was. He stared hard into her familiar navy eyes, desperate to believe this beautiful silver-haired angel was real, that she wouldn't evaporate into thin air.

She wiped underneath his eyes with her thumb, not once letting her gaze leave his. "Hey," she whispered. "It's over now. I'm right here." She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his. "I'm right here."

Haymitch let out a gust of breath. The overwhelming sense of relief he felt at her promise literally knocked the wind out of him. She wasn't going anywhere. She was staying. She'll let him cry about Maysilee, something he hadn't let himself do since his Games. He slid his face to the crook of her neck, his dark stubble slightly scratching her nose and her cheek. He felt an odd satisfaction at the gooseflesh that emerged over her porcelain skin.

"Maysilee," he muttered into her loose, silver hair. "I couldn't save her. Maysilee!" He murmured this over and over again, a twisted mantra.

His angel nuzzled into the crook of his neck, returning to rubbing her hands along his back. He gripped her tightly in response, fists clenched around the fabric of her night dress, continuing his mantra.

* * *

Haymitch stirred from his sleep feeling the most content he had in years, even after the night he had. He didn't remember anything except having the worst nightmare of his life. But then the nightmare shifted into something much more pleasant. He had sobbed his eyes out while being held by a beautiful silver-haired woman.

Speaking of which…

Haymitch must still be having one of those dreams that occur in the half-awake-half-asleep state. He could still feel the dainty little lady curled up in his arms. She felt like she was _made_ to fit into him. He hoped he never woke up from this dream. He felt so utterly safe lying here, completely at peace. It was an entirely new experience.

When he would sleep next to Violet, he felt nice. He felt secure. With Vi it had been completely natural. _This_, however, was an entirely different matter. Here next to this angel, he felt _whole_. It was like something had been missing, and she was it. It felt _right_. It was as if this fictional specter was designed specifically for Haymitch Abernathy.

He felt her move. He tightened his grip and nuzzled his nose deeper into her hair—she smelled like lavender and vanilla. "Mine," he whispered against her rapid pulse beat. He always had been selfish. If she were designed for him, he was going to keep her for as long as he could. He wanted to enjoy this peace.

So he forced himself into a deeper sleep, holding onto the only thing that's felt right since he was sixteen years old.

* * *

Needless to say, his peace didn't last long. But oddly enough, the lack of it wasn't due to Melody or Maysilee, or even his mother and Glenn. He had his moments, and those weren't enjoyable. But after his breakdown, Haymitch found he could think of them without feeling the urge to drink himself into oblivion. He'll always feel guilty—how could he not when he murdered each one of them in some way or another? And he's sure he'll always have dreams (nightmares) about them. But once he had finally released all of that pent up emotion, he thinks he just might be able to go through life without absolutely _needing_ to drink at the mere thought of these people.

However…Haymitch had another problem. He had a different reason he craved the brief bliss his alcohol prescribed. His girl. His Violet.

After ten years, Haymitch couldn't bring himself to remember her face, her voice, her touch. He missed it something fierce, but he couldn't _remember_ it.

And that brought the greatest shame Haymitch has felt yet.

Ever since his dream with that strange woman…

When Haymitch told Violet that he would marry her even if he had fallen in love with someone else, he meant it. He meant it wholeheartedly. He always figured he and Violet would fall in love with each other eventually.

If Maysilee had lived, he knew that, yes, he most likely would have fallen in love with her. But it would have been a puppy love, a fantasy. Nothing would have ever happened between them—and Violet was more important to him. Violet was tangible, possible, and real. She meant more to him than anyone. Vi always made him feel nice, comfortable, like he was home.

But that stranger made him feel _whole_. He always thought Violet was his other half, but he never felt whole with her. Perhaps Violet was half of him, but the half he already possessed. They were essentially the same person. Maybe this stranger was the other half that _completed_ rather than complimented him. Maybe she represented the one he needed instead of the one he felt like he would always want.

Haymitch wasn't foolish enough to think that he was in love with this stranger. No, that was stupid and unreasonable. She was fictitious, a figment of his imagination, a dream-induced hallucination. Yet she had given him a glimpse of something he _could_ have. If someone like that truly existed… Haymitch would be lying if he said he didn't want that someone. And he'd be lying if he said that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he'd still choose Vi if he had ever met that someone before she died.

That's what scared him.

Did that mean he didn't care about her as much as he thought? Would he have let her go? Where would Vi be in his life if he met this someone? And if he ever met this someone in his future, would he forget Violet, all that they shared, and for all that she stood?

These questions plagued his mind and drove him to drink more than before. He couldn't stand the thought that he was somehow betraying his Violet. Haymitch was a lot of awful things, but the quality he always prided in himself was his loyalty. The thought he was abandoning Violet sickened him in so many more ways than twenty bottles of vodka.

And so he drank.

He drank until he passed out in the morning and threw up all of it at night. He drank until he thought his stomach would burst. He drank until he couldn't tell the difference between which way was up and which way was down. But he could never drink enough to drown those pitying and frightened looks Effie would toss in his direction.

* * *

When Effie first started that ridiculous jam-packed schedule of hers, Haymitch was beyond annoyed and furious. It was seriously cutting into his twenty-four-seven happy hour.

A few weeks later he realized it was Effie's whole point of starting the schedule. At first, he almost yelled at her. She needed to mind her own business. She was probably only worried about how his habits might affect her _career_.

Well, that's what he thought. It wasn't until they were at dinner one night when his perspective shifted. It was eight o'clock, and he was only slightly tipsy. Usually he was in a stupor by then. This was the first time he was even _present_ at dinner (or any meal) for the first time in almost an entire Games season.

"You're—you're not…" Effie trailed off.

"Not what, sweetheart?" he grumbled. "Polite? Clean? Unconscious?"

She was silent for a moment. He looked up in time to see her swallow thickly, looking at her dinner plate as if it were the most fascinating object she'd ever laid her eyes on. "You're not drunk."

He snorted. "It's a miracle, ain't it, princess?" He peeled off a piece of his orange chicken with his fingers and stuck it in his mouth, sucking on it loudly. It was sure to piss her off. To his surprise, she didn't even stir. "Thanks to your OCD and stupid _schedule_—" he spat the word schedule like it had a foul taste—"I barely have time to get buzzed, let alone wasted. I bet you're _so_ happy your career may not be in jeopardy because of District Twelve's unstable mentor. For now, anyway."

Effie didn't say a word. "I'm thankful you're not dead," she whispered.

Haymitch started. She said it so quietly, he was sure he wasn't supposed to hear her. His trained ears caught it nonetheless. He contemplated her as she resumed eating. At first glance you'd think nothing was wrong with the flighty escort. But Haymitch knew her much better than most people. He could see what she was truly feeling behind that mask of hers she liked to put on. And she looked positively _relieved_. If you looked close enough, you could see that she was gnawing the inside of her cheek between bites of her food—a telltale sign that she was struggling not to cry.

Haymitch softened. This woman had enforced a schedule, not because she was worried about her job, but because she was worried about him. He knew that his habits were self-destructive. He probably _would_ have ended up dead had he kept up his ritual of chugging straight Everclear. Effie had kept him "busy, busy, busy" in regards to his health. She cared about his well-being. She cared about _him_.

Haymitch shook his head. _I hope you know what you're doing, Abernathy_. He gestured to an Avox. Once the Avox arrived at his chair, Haymitch requested she take away his wine and bring him a glass of fizzy water instead. Effie and the Avox stared at him in shock. Haymitch glowered. "Did I stutter? Get to it!" The Avox hurried to carry out the order. Effie continued to stare at him, mouth agape and eyes full of questioning gratitude. "What?"

Effie blinked rapidly and slightly shook her head, her black wig rustling. "Nothing."

Haymitch grunted as the Avox returned with his new drink. He took it and held it up towards Effie. "To being alive."

She paused. "To being alive." She _clinked_ her glass with his. "I must admit, I'm a little stunned, Haymitch."

Haymitch itched his nose after he swallowed. Stupid bubbles. "Yeah, well. Don't get used to it, princess. This is a one-time thing."

She beamed. "Then I hope it's worth it."

As Haymitch took in her bright smile, he decides it _is_ worth it. _Aw, hell._ He ran a hand down his face. _Looks like I'm starting to care for her, too_. _Dammit._

* * *

"Were you just checking me out?"

"I-I-I… What? _No_!"

"It's okay if were. I know you think I'm sexy."

"I just…I was _not_ 'checking you out.'"

"Really, just admit it, sweetheart. I make your womanly parts tingle."

"_Haymitch Abernathy_!"

* * *

Haymitch wasn't blind. He had long since come to terms that he found Effie extremely attractive. It was only natural that other men take notice in her as well. He would sometimes overhear (accidentally) some of the sponsors talk about the "District Twelve escort." Once in a while some of them will have the balls to actually approach her. She never responded to their advances. Haymitch figured she was too naïve to understand their true intentions. She probably thought they were just being polite, and because of her obsession with manners, she would reciprocate conversation but would never go any further than what was necessary.

Now he was simply wondering if none of the sponsors tickled her fancy. Because now she was dancing—practically five feet away from him—with Perseus Oliveryne, an obnoxiously suave Junior Gamemaker. Ah, so she liked stocky, flamboyant, and successful.

As opposed to what? Tall, dark, and _drunk_?

…Okay, clearly he's had a little too much if he was comparing himself to Perseus Oliveryne in regards to Effie Trinket's _love life_.

Besides, why should he care with whom she sleeps around? It's none of his business. He shouldn't be feeling this white-hot fury at the thought of Effie being led up the stairs of whatever establishment Perseus resided. He shouldn't be so disappointed that she was acting like every single other Capitol woman. And he _certainly_ shouldn't feel like ripping off Perseus's arms with his bare hands as they wrapped themselves around Effie's purple-clad body.

And he probably shouldn't be squeezing his glass so hard that it cracked each time he heard Effie's flirtatious giggle.

* * *

Haymitch watched from the doorway while Effie kicked off her heels and sat in the black leather sofa in the District Twelve penthouse. She heaved a sigh of contentment and laid her head against the back of the sofa. She looked like the poster for perfect happiness. And it _really_ pissed him off.

"Someone had a fun night," he drawled, slightly slurred.

Effie jumped at the sound of Haymitch's voice. She turned her head to look at his leaning frame. She swept her eyes over him—probably judging the way he had quickly discarded his constricting formal attire—and looked up at the ceiling. It was as if she was deeming him unworthy of her time! Oh, but Perseus was plenty worth her time. _Little bitch_.

She hummed in response. "I hardly had more than two glasses, Haymitch."

He scoffed. "I wasn't talking about the drinks, lightweight. More like the company you shared." _The disgusting company of a murderer-in-training itching to get you in the sack_._ The asshole probably doesn't even know who you are._

Effie grinned. "Perseus is quite the charmer." She stretched her arms over her head and let out a yawn. Haymitch had to force himself not to let his eyes sweep over her lithe figure. "I haven't had so much fun in a long, long, long time!"

Haymitch took a gulp of his wine and licked his tips to catch the excess liquid left behind. "I didn't know that shameless flirting with Junior Gamemakers was your style, Trinket." Because, really, couldn't she have done so much better? Unless she was in it for the sex just as much as Perseus.

His tone made Effie level her gaze at him. He returned the stare, making sure to keep an unreadable expression on his face. "I'm almost thirty, Haymitch. I think I can 'flirt' with a man without it being labeled a scandal."

Haymitch shrugged one shoulder. "If you say so." He took another gulp. This wine was freaking delicious.

She narrowed her eyes in defense. "Is it really so hard to believe that I may want an enjoyable night with a man once in a while?"

He smirked condescendingly. Ah, so she _was_ in it for the sex. "Maybe?"

Haymitch felt a surge of satisfaction as he watched her unravel. She jumped up and put her hands on her hips. "I've about had it with you, Haymitch. I was having a harmless night of fun—something I haven't experienced in quite some time—and you go around mocking me for it, acting as if I'm not capable of such things! I have needs too, you know." His smirk grew, and he quirked an eyebrow. She wasn't doing herself any favors. She was just proving the fact that she was a typical Capitol slut. "Just because you're too drunk and…and…_mean_ to properly woo a woman doesn't mean that I have to stick to myself like a hermit!"

Haymitch frowned. "There are no women worth my time here to woo, especially if they're anything like you."

He saw Effie stiffen. "What's that supposed to mean?" He didn't think her voice could go down to that octave. He thought it was permanently set at a decibel only a pitch away from being legally considered a dog whistle.

Haymitch felt a prickle of guilt. No, he wasn't going to back down. She should know how pathetic she acted. "All of you Capitol women are the same. All you care about is a conquest—who can you sleep with to get to the very top? Do you think Perseus didn't know that?" _Probably the only reason the little bastard bothered with you at all. He probably thinks you'll make a lovely trophy._ He took another gulp of his drink.

Effie swallowed. "Sex wasn't on my agenda, Haymitch."

His face was stone. "Regardless, do you think he even cared about what your name was? Like I said, you're all the same. Even to someone as important and 'high class' as him." _Because that was obviously the only reason_ she_ bothered with _him.

"Why are you saying this?"

He shifted his gaze to the side, his head tilting slightly upward. How to word this, how to word this? "Think of it as a friendly reminder. If he doesn't care about your name, he doesn't care about you."

Effie shook her head. Oh, she didn't believe him? Typical. "You can't prove that."

He looked at her again, eyebrows raised. "Oh yeah? Tell me, sweetheart, what _is_ your name?"

"Effie Trinket."

Haymitch nodded once. "Exactly. Effie _Trinket_. You're nothing more than a trinket to him—to every guy in Panem. You're just a shiny bauble used for decoration. No purpose other than to give some pleasure. And what do you eventually do with Trinkets, hm?" Effie didn't answer. "You do what everyone does with a worthless Trinket. Throw them in the trash. And that's exactly what you are, sweetheart." He gulped the last of the wine. "Worthless trash."

Effie violently pushed past him. He had to catch his balance on the door frame. He stayed like that until he heard the sliding door to her room slam, echoing throughout the eerily silent penthouse.

The slam forced him back to reality, the full weight of guilt crashing over his head as he realized what he said. Haymitch swore loudly and threw his empty glass at the wall. He ran a hand through his hair and rested his forehead against the wall, his shoes crunching the broken glass. _Shit. What did I just do_?

* * *

Haymitch knew he had gone way out of line. He honestly didn't even know why he said those things to her. He couldn't solely blame it on the alcohol, though he was positive that had a little something to do with it. No, it was rooted deeper than that. But he didn't have time to dwell on it, nor did he want to. He needed to find Effie _now_ and apologize. He should probably invest in a pair of knee pads for all the kneeling and begging he would have to do so that she would forgive him.

He paused outside of her doorway. He was never very good at saying he was sorry. He could only remember doing it a handful of times in his life. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath through his nose, swallowed his ghastly pride, and lightly knocked on her door. "Effie?"

No answer.

"Eff, it's Haymitch." _Well, no shit, Sherlock. Who else would it be_? "I think we need to talk."

Still no answer.

Haymitch knocked again. He tried to make his voice as soft as possible. "Effie? Eff, will you please talk to me? Eff… Come on, sweetheart, just open the door."

Nothing. He was about to walk away when he heard it. Possibly the worst sounds he's ever heard in his life—and he's heard quite a few.

Effie was behind the closed door of her bathroom, making a plethora of horrible strangled cries meshed with painful wretches. He felt his stomach drop to the floor when he heard the toilet flush and her crying resume. Heaven above, he made her cry so hard she _vomited_.

Haymitch roughly turned around and punched the opposite wall. He was absolutely disgusted with himself. He trudged his way back to his room, never getting the chance to apologize. Why should he? There was no way she'd forgive him for this. Hell, he wouldn't forgive himself. He probably never will.

* * *

He forced himself to go to bed sober. He deserved every amount of pain he could possibly feel.

* * *

They didn't speak for a week. Haymitch avoided her at all cost, letting her cool down from their blow up. He was trying to work up the perfect speech—yes, _speech_—to try to convince her that he wasn't a complete and utterly heartless dumbass. Okay, no, he was always going to be a dumbass, but maybe she can overlook it and see…

No. No, he was totally screwed.

Maybe if he acted like nothing happened she would be more apt to soften up to him? Yes, yes, good plan.

He found her in the dining cart shuffling a stack of papers. _Act natural_.

Haymitch smoothly took a seat directly in front of her on the table. He rattled his ice around in his glass. Drinking was natural for him. "What are those?" he asked, gesturing at the stack with his glass.

Effie leafed through the papers, double checking that everything was in order. "Papers."

He scoffed. "Obviously. Papers of what?"

She sighed. "I'm sending in an application requesting a promotion to a new district."

Haymitch froze. _Promotion_? _She was leaving_? He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to keep a calm façade. "Why?"

Effie stood up from her chair, papers in hand, and looked Haymitch square in the eye. Both expressions were blank. "So that you don't have to bother with taking out the trash."

Haymitch winced. "Effie—"

"Good day, Mr. Abernathy." With that, Effie turned on her heal and walked away without looking back.

Haymitch stared after her, rooted to his seat on the table. He supposed he should have been happy. This Capitol princess, who had been the bane of his existence since day one, was finally leaving. He couldn't count how many times he wished she would disappear from his life so that he wouldn't have to listen to her eternal nagging or look at her outrageous fashion choices. Now she was requesting a promotion, and there was no way the Capitol was going to turn down her application. She'd dealt with _him_ for years, and that was quite the accomplishment (even he'd testify to that). They were going to grant her the promotion. He'd never see her again except for brief glimpses during Victor parties and the like. She'd be completely cut out of his life. It's what he's wanted for so long. So he _should_ be happy.

Instead he felt absolute panic. Effie was the one constant in his life. She dealt with his crap. They fought, they made up in unorthodox ways (that were not dirty in the slightest—he really needed to get his mind out of the gutter). And whether they liked it or not, they probably knew each other better than they knew themselves. After almost ten years of working together, Effie was ready to throw it all away because he said something so vilely stupid that even _he_ was ready to dig his own grave. She was going to leave forever.

Heaven above, he was such a _heartless dumbass_!

And there was no way in hell he was letting her go through with this.

* * *

Once he got off the train back in District Twelve, it took Haymitch approximately ten seconds to run into the train station and book a ticket back to the Capitol.

* * *

Haymitch threw open the door to Plutarch Heavensbee's office and literally barreled in. Plutarch jumped, nearly scattering the papers that littered his desk. "Haymitch?"

Haymitch was fully aware he probably looked as insane as he felt. He slammed his hands flat against Plutarch's desk. "Escort applications. Did you get them?"

Plutarch's eyes narrowed. "Yes. I was just about to finish looking through them—What are doing, you crazy man?"

Haymitch grabbed the papers off his desk, looking through them frantically. "I'm looking for Effie's."

"Ms. Trinket?"

Haymitch didn't answer. He kept scouring the applications, desperate to find the right one.

"Are you looking for her promotion application? I was just about to file it for approval."

Haymitch snapped his head up. Plutarch was holding an official-looking document with Effie's familiar scrawl. It was marked with a stamp reading _APPROVED_. Haymitch's eye twitched. He snatched the document out of Plutarch's chubby fingers and ripped it in half, then fourths, then eighths until it was nothing but confetti.

"Haymitch, what in the—"

He glared at Plutarch. "Consider her application denied."

"Would you care to explain why I shouldn't have you detained for this?"

Haymitch smirked. He wouldn't dare. Plutarch Heavensbee was one of the few Hunger Games officials who knew exactly what the Capitol was about. He was one of the few people Haymitch trusted in terms of potential rebellion. Nothing had opened up yet, but they were quickly gaining allies should an opportunity ever arise. It most likely wasn't until the distant future, but regardless, Plutarch needed Haymitch when that day came. "You should, but you won't."

Plutarch sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "You're right. So why don't you just sit down and tell me what this is all about."

Haymitch snorted. "Thanks, I'll pass."

"Haymitch, it's not every day that I have a mentor come in and _demand_ I not honor a completely worthy request for promotion by a more than deserving escort." Haymitch said nothing. Plutarch only smiled. "Am I wrong? Has Ms. Trinket been behaving less than honorably in regards to her duties?"

Haymitch cringed inwardly. _No, that would be me_. "No."

"Is she terminally ill?"

"No."

"Then she's committed a treasonous act of crime?"

"The princess? Not a chance."

"So what's the problem here?"

He clenched his jaw.

"Haymitch, I can't just deny an application for no reason. The board is going to want answers."

"So make something up!" he snapped. He leaned forward against the edge of the desk. "Appeal to their sense of order. Tell them that Effie's the only person who can handle me. Tell them that it would take too long to train another escort to deal with the eternally sloshed mentor from District Twelve."

"Is that the real reason?"

"That's _my_ reason."

Plutarch sighed and folded his hands on his desk. He looked at Haymitch evenly. "What's really going on here, Haymitch? What happened that made you barge into my office in a tirade to keep Ms. Trinket in District Twelve?"

Haymitch pushed himself off, turning his attention above Plutarch's head. "Nothing," he growled. "Just make sure she stays there."

Haymitch turned and walked away. Plutarch sighed once more and shook his head. Something was clearly going on with those two. He wasn't entirely sure he really wanted to know.

* * *

"So let me get this straight: You fight with Effie, you make her want to leave, and your bright idea to make her stay wasn't to apologize like a normal human being, but to jeopardize her job?"

Haymitch flinched. "Er…yeah."

Chaff burst into hysterics, narrowly missing having the unpleasant experience of alcohol come out of his nose. "Clearly, the alcohol has gone to your brain cells, Abernathy."

Haymitch grumbled under his breath. "Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in."

Chaff shook his head and took a swig from his bottle. "So did it work? Is she staying in District Twelve?"

Haymitch shrugged. "I have no idea. It's been two years and nothing has happened. I don't know if that means she was denied or if they're waiting for the right sucker to get stuck with me." He took a drink. "Not that Eff would tell me, anyway. She's barely talked to me since she sent in that application."

Chaff raised an eyebrow. "Effie Trinket not talking?" Haymitch sent him an agreeing look. "What the hell did you even say to her?"

Haymitch slumped down in his seat. "Nothing."

Chaff sucked on his teeth. "That bad, huh?"

"I called her worthless trash."

Chaff blinked. He slammed his bottle on the table. "Are you stupid? No, don't answer that; I already know." Chaff glared at him. "That was low, even for you. It doesn't matter how much you don't like someone, or what they stand for, you do _not_ call them—especially if they're a woman—worthless trash."

"I know!" he snapped. He stood up and ran a hand through his grimy hair. How long has it been since he's had a proper shower? "I _know_ that."

Chaff sighed through his nose and shook his head. "What in the world made you say something so idiotic?"

Haymitch groaned and punched a wall. "I don't know! I was drunk and she was pissing me off!"

"What could she have done to piss you off that much?"

"Like hell if I even know!" Haymitch sat down violently in his chair and took a deep gulp of his drink. "We were at the Victor party. She was having the time of her life with that new Junior Gamemaker."

"Perseus?"

Haymitch's lips curled in disgust. "Yeah. Perseus."

"And…?"

"I don't know, I snapped! I didn't like seeing his grubby, bloody hands all over her."

Chaff raised an eyebrow. "So…you were jealous?"

Haymitch looked at Chaff like he had just announced he was getting a gender change and marrying President Snow. "Jealous? Over Effie?"

Chaff shrugged. "It's not impossible. You obviously care about the little lady or else you wouldn't be so upset about her leaving."

"That has nothing to do—"

"Haymitch."

Haymitch threw his hands up. "Okay, fine, yeah! I didn't like the idea of having to share Effie." Haymitch rubbed his hand over his face. "Geez, I'm a thirty-year-old man, and I'm acting like I'm fourteen.

"I think most fourteen-year-olds know not to call a woman _worthless trash_." He ignored the look Haymitch sent his way. Chaff held up his bottle, twisting it around as if he were inspecting the liquid inside. "So what's so bad about the idea of sharing Effie?" Haymitch blinked. "Think about it. Why should it bother you so much if she has a love life? She's her own woman."

Haymitch scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. "I don't know. We've worked together for ten years, and she's never so much as looked at another man."

Chaff nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. "You mean, another man besides you?"

Haymitch winced and dropped his hand from his neck. He stayed silent, mulling it over in his head. Another man besides him? He guessed, in a way. Her home life aside (because who knows what she did there), he's been the only man who has been around her for long periods of time. He's never seen her with anyone else. The image of her with anyone else other than him, platonic or otherwise, just seemed so…wrong. "Yeah, I guess."

Chaff took a drink and licked his lips. "So you're in love with her, then?"

Haymitch started, a look of shocked aversion washing over him. "In _love_ with _Effie Trinket_? Chaff, she's the most annoying, ridiculous, pesky, irritating, and flat-out bothersome woman I have ever met in my entire life."

Chaff raised an eyebrow. "Okay, then why care whether or not she leaves for good? Shouldn't you be jumping for joy if she's _that_ bad?"

Haymitch stared at the wall, trying to find a way to put it into words. He wasn't entirely sure he knew the answer himself. As insufferable as Effie was, she did have some good qualities, though he was loathe to admit it. She was obnoxious, yet she had a naïveté that was sort of endearing. She was voluntarily involved in a job that cost hundreds of children's lives, yet she was tenderhearted and genuinely cared about the kids going into the arena. She drove him certifiably nuts and vice versa, yet she still took the time to make sure he was alive and breathing, not choking on his own vomit or drowning in his drink. He'd been with her for so long, he couldn't imagine a life without her. In a sense, a life without Effie would be dull and practically unbearable. If she left on her own will, he didn't think he'd be able to handle it.

Haymitch sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I'm not in love with Effie, Chaff. I don't even like her that much half the time." He met his friend's eyes. "But I can't survive without her."

In Chaff's opinion, it wasn't the truth, but it was a start. He hummed in response. "Did you ever think about maybe telling her this?"

He scoffed in disbelief. "She can hardly look at me, and you expect me to tell her something like _that_?"

Chaff shrugged. "It might make her forgive you."

Haymitch chuckled bitterly. "Nothing would make that woman forgive me."

"Do you blame her?"

"Not at all."

"So then, really, what harm could come from it? In your mind, she can't hate you any more than she already does. What could it hurt?"'

_My dignity_? "I don't think I'll even have to worry about it. By the time these Games end, she'll probably be packing her stupidly colored bags and skipping off to a more successful District. So what should it matter if she knows I can't survive without her? It won't make any difference." Haymitch chugged the rest of what remained of his drink.

Chaff looked to the right of Haymitch. "If you say so, Abernathy."

"I do."

They sat quietly, enjoying the little time they had before they would get the training scores for their current Tributes. It wasn't often they had opportunities to catch up, but when they did, Haymitch appreciated it. It felt refreshing to have someone else to talk and listen to. Not for the first time, Haymitch was thankful for one of the few good things the Games wrought—his friendship with Chaff. It was like having the brother he never got to keep. Someone he could give advice and take advice. He was one of the few people Haymitch trusted, and certainly the only one he trusted in something like this.

"Oh, and Chaff?"

"What?"

"If you tell anyone what I just said, I'll be sure to cut off your other hand. Good luck trying to hold a beer. You'll have to start investing in some high-quality straws."

* * *

_Ice_!

"Holy mother loving—!" Haymitch shot up from the bed, dripping freezing cold water. He flailed his knife around at whatever hidden assailants were lurking in his room. He'll kill 'em! He'll kill every last…

Once his eyes focused, he found himself facing not an intimidating, hulking mass, but a prissy, high-strung blueberry. _Effie_. He groaned and put a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples. "Dammit, woman, you're going to give me a heart attack."

Effie waltzed to his closet, pulling out a shirt and trousers. "Nonsense," she said as she flung them on his bed. "Your liver will give out first."

He grumbled under his breath. It was too early to make a retort. Not to mention he was mildly surprised she was even speaking to him. Ugh, he was going to need more gin to deal with her mood swings. "Where the hell is my drink?"

Effie tsked her tongue. "Watch your language." She tossed a pair of socks over her shoulder. They hit him in the mouth. She had ironically accurate aim. "I've taken your drink until further notice. You'll get it back as soon as you clean yourself up." She flung a pair of clean boxer shorts on top of the shirt and trousers. "Tonight are the Interviews. I want you at least somewhat sober for it." She faced him. "If I'm not getting promoted to a new District I want the one I have to look somewhat desirable."

Haymitch instantly sobered. Did he hear her right? He slipped on a neutral mask. "You're not being promoted?"

Effie crossed her arms and looked to the left. "You heard me, Haymitch. Apparently I'm the only escort who can handle your antics."

So Plutarch went with his excuse after all. Well, as long as she was staying, Plutarch could use whatever excuse he wanted. Effie didn't seem to be complaining either. She seemed okay speaking to him again. Haymitch smirked. So did this mean she forgave him somehow?

Effie turned her eyes back to him. "Now shower and get dressed. I want to prove to everyone that I _can_ handle you. Maybe I'll get that promotion eventually." His smirk grew. She was teasing him again. Yep, she definitely forgave him. "I want you at least half sober and on your best behavior tonight. Do you understand me?"

Haymitch laughed and grabbed the clothes she laid out for him. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Not a chance, sweetheart."

* * *

"If you don't start limiting your alcohol intake, your blood pressure is going to go through the roof!"

"Sister, the only thing detrimental to my blood pressure is _you_!"

* * *

Haymitch frowned at his bottle. It was empty. Well, that just wasn't an option. He was delightfully buzzed. And yet, he was still conscious. He'll need his sleep tonight—the launch was the next day. Looks like he'll have to take a stroll to his favorite location: the liquor cabinet.

Haymitch heaved himself out of the armchair in his room. The room spun. He gurgled a chuckle. At least it wouldn't take too much more drink. Too much more? Much more? Too more? Ugh, he was spending too much time with Effie if he was thinking about proper grammar while he was hammered.

Speaking of Effie…

She was probably freaking out over the launch tomorrow. He'll have to annoy her to keep her mind off it. And he'll need to amuse himself while he waited for the liquor to spread through his veins.

But first…the alcohol.

He stumbled ungracefully to the kitchen's liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle. He had no idea what it was, but at this point, it probably didn't matter. His vision will be too blurred to properly read it. He brought it to his lips and took a deep drink, the liquid dripping onto his chin. He savored the light burn in the back of his throat. This will do just fine.

He turned to start his search for his evening entertainment when he saw her on the couch in the conjoining living area. She must have been too engrossed in whatever she was doing not to hear him. Or maybe she was just ignoring him? He'll have to fix that.

He staggered over towards the couch. She looked to be filling out some sort of document. He put his chin on her shoulder and slurred, "Whasha doin,' Eff?"

Effie briefly glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Trying not to suffocate via your liquor-induced halitosis."

"Huh?"

"Your breath reeks, Haymitch."

He smirked. "Yeah, princess?" He let out a giant huff against the side of her face. He laughed when she gagged.

She curled her lip. "You're disgusting. Honestly, you smell like death warmed over."

_Hm. Fitting_. He pulled a face. "Yeah, well you smell like…" He turned his face and took a deep whiff into her neck. _Oh, dear heaven_.

"Haymitch!" Effie quite literally squeaked.

She smelled like lavender and vanilla. It was _intoxicating_. Had she always possessed this wonderful, tantalizing scent? And had her skin always felt this smooth? He didn't know the answer to that. He only knew that he needed _more_. He nuzzled the side of his prickly jawline against hers, inhaling her sweet aroma. He felt her skin break out into goose bumps. Her breath hitched. It was extremely appealing.

Effie cleared her throat. "Haymitch Abernathy, you step away from me this minute!"

Haymitch returned his nose to the inside of her neck. He could feel her erratic pulse point against his lips. "No can do, sweetheart," he mumbled. Her pulse quickened even further. It made him feel indescribable warmth in his chest. Screw the liquor; he'll get drunk off her scent. "You smell way too delicious." He briefly wondered if she tasted as good as she smelled. He smirked and licked her pulse point, lightly nicking her skin with his teeth.

Effie gasped and flew off the couch, causing him to face plant right onto the black cushions. He barely registered her yelling at him before he blacked out from alcohol.

* * *

Haymitch woke up face down on the couch in the living area. His head was pounding. He groaned as he forced himself up. "How the hell did I end up here?"

"Oh, lovely, you're awake." Haymitch winced and looked up. Effie threw a towel in his face. "Take a shower and get dressed. We need to be in the viewing room in an hour."

He growled under his breath. "Joy. You feel the need to clean me up for an execution. How nice of you, princess."

Effie rolled her eyes. "It's no different than before. You'll still have the vodka to get you through it."

Haymitch raised an eyebrow. "You're extra touchy this morning. What's got your skirts ruffled?"

Effie flinched but didn't answer his question. "Just get ready. We're already way, way, way behind schedule."

He rolled his eyes. As she walked away, he did a double take. There was something on her neck. It looked like a little bruise. Kind of like a… His eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets. _What the… How the… Huh_?

"Eff, is that a _hickey_?"

* * *

"Drunk."

"Prude."

"Slob."

"Priss."

* * *

Haymitch glared suspiciously from across the banquet hall. When it came to his least favorite people, Wolfgang Lowe had to be at the top, right behind President Snow and his father (sometimes even himself). When Haymitch had told Effie about those involved in the Hunger Games who slept around with various women for the hell of it, Wolfgang was the greatest offender in that department. He was the richest sponsor for the Games, and he was notorious for sleazing around with various mentors and escorts (both male and female) in order to keep his money in their Tributes' bank. The Victor's Celebration was Wolfgang's favorite hunting ground. Mentors and escorts tended to be either sensitive to his tricks because their Tributes had died, or they were desperate to stay on his good side because their Tribute won. He would usually seek out one or two victims per few hours, depending on the state or challenge of the poor soul.

Right now Wolfgang was attempting to seduce Effie.

And Haymitch did not like it _one bit_.

He promised himself that he wouldn't get involved in Effie's love life ever since his last—er, "warning"—ended up in disaster. After all, it was her love life, her business. He shouldn't butt in just because he got jealous. And it's not like he had a reason to be jealous other than he was a selfish man who hated sharing. Not that Effie was a possession, because she wasn't. Even though he had called her a literal trinket…

Haymitch shook his head. Point was, Haymitch promised himself he wouldn't get involved. But upon closer inspection, and with a keen insight into Effie that Haymitch had acquired over years of working with her, he could see she was anything but comfortable with the disgusting dog. Her neck was strained, her smile was tight, and her knuckles were turning white from clutching her glass of wine (white, of course, to avoid staining her gown).

This wasn't like her night with Perseus. She clearly wanted to be anywhere but near Wolfgang's predatory gaze. But she'd leave if she got too uncomfortable, right? Didn't women have, like, some sort of intuition that came with a sense of danger? It was obvious she saw the danger in Wolfgang. So, logically, she'd excuse herself, right?

_Wrong_, Haymitch thought. Wolfgang had dipped his snout close to her ear, whispering something that made her eyes cringe and smile tighten further. He should have known her sense of etiquette would more than likely get in the way of her safety from this sleazy scumbag. Looks like he'll have to step in after all.

Haymitch began to walk over. He was planning on simply walking over, all intimidating, and casually strike up conversation. Maybe slip in that he needed to speak with the pretty escort privately. That's what he was _planning_ until Wolfgang snaked his nasty paws around Effie's waist. Haymitch's blood roared in his ears.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Haymitch roughly grabbed Effie's wrist, fighting so hard not to punch that bastard in the face. "C'mon, Effie, we're dancing." He dragged her away, ignoring her squeal of protest. She was probably insulting him, but he couldn't hear past the rage in his head. _If he lays one more hand on her during the night, I_ swear _I'll… Doesn't matter, I won't_ _let_ _him get the chance_.

"Haymitch, you're going to make me spill my drink all over my new dress!"

He barely registered that she was tripping over herself to keep up with his pace. He paused and turned to her. Without breaking eye contact, he took her glass, downed the rest of her drink in one gulp, then promptly threw the glass to the side. It shattered on the floor next to Seneca Crane. He earned a glare in response. Haymitch ignored Seneca and continued to lead Effie to the dance floor.

"Haymitch, I demand to know what you're doing!"

He stopped abruptly near farthest edge of the dance floor. Effie fixed her wig out of embarrassment from the glares of the other dancing couples. _Why did I do this again_? He growled under his breath. "I told you, we're dancing." He roughly pulled Effie into him before she could say a word. "Now shut up and dance before I come to my senses."

Effie promptly shut her mouth. Now why didn't she do that every time he asked her to be quiet? Haymitch wrapped his right arm around her waist and took her right hand in his left. Her hand was so tiny in his; it made her seem so delicate.

Groaning internally, he began to lead her in a waltz. Why in the world did he think to do this? He hated dancing. _Hated_ it. There was a reason he would try to get as drunk as possible during these stupid Victory Celebrations. Unfortunately, he had a higher tolerance than most of these idiots, and they specifically kept the hard liquor away from these parties after his little stunt with the ice sculpture and a very unfortunate Claudius Templesmith. Man, that was some night.

He kept stepping on Effie's foot. It genuinely embarrassed him. This little princess was probably used to dancing with the most capable and graceful men in the Capitol. And here he was, with two left feet and a harsh hand. The third time he stepped on her, she finally spoke up. "Ouch! My goodness, Haymitch, didn't anyone teach you how to dance?"

He glared at her, feeling defensive. "It wasn't exactly the first class you took at school in District Twelve, Trinket." He backed away from her slightly, dropping her hand. "But if you'd rather be violated by dog breath over there, be my guest." _Fat chance. I wouldn't let you within two feet of that disgusting, sleazy douchebag_.

Effie shook her head violently. "No, thank you! My apologies." Haymitch nodded once and took her hand again. They picked up where they left off, Haymitch taking more care in not stepping on her feet again. She sighed. "Why did you ask—demand—that I dance with you in the first place?" Haymitch raised an eyebrow. Her lips thinned. "Aren't you the one who said I was just a worthless trinket? Why would it matter if Wolfgang were…'violating'…me?"

Haymitch averted his eyes. So she _hasn't_ fully forgiven him for that yet. Well, he deserved it. "Yeah, well…" Now that he thought about it, he never did really apologize for it. Might as well do it now that it was brought up. He wasn't going to tell her what he told Chaff, but he could say something honest. He looked at her again, expression completely serious and slightly sheepish. "Some Trinkets are meant to be cherished." He could practically feel the heat spread from his neck to his face. Heaven above, he was _blushing_? He hadn't blushed since before he was a teenager! He _never_ blushed. This was humiliating.

Effie visibly softened. She took in the color in his cheeks and smiled teasingly. _Oh, great._ It wasn't often she had the upper hand in their banter. "Why, Haymitch, are you blushing?"

He scowled. "Shut up." He stepped on her foot purposely this time. She only laughed. Haymitch let a small smile grace his features. His clumsiness aside, this really wasn't so bad. At least Effie was away from Wolfgang. Haymitch wasn't going to let some Capitol womanizer try to get his girl in the sack.

Haymitch faltered (but didn't step on her this time), eyes wide in mortification. Did he just refer to _Effie Trinket_ as _his girl_? Where did that come from? She wasn't his girl. She was Effie. She was annoying. She was his partner. She was…

Haymitch looked at her carefully. She had a small grin and her eyes were shining.

She was beautiful.

_Aw, hell_. Haymitch winced inwardly. _Shit, I think I actually _like _her._

* * *

Haymitch headed toward the kitchen to get a drink from the liquor cabinet. He was still reeling over the possibility that he might actually _like_ Effie Trinket. Not like as in, "Sure, she's an alright person." Like as in, "Damn, that woman's fine. Gimme a piece of that Capitol Candy!"

What was he, thirteen?

He was a middle-aged alcoholic. Any possibility of him obtaining any romantic feelings towards a woman was virtually nonexistent. He hardly had any feelings at all, if he could help it.

Besides, Effie stood for practically everything he was hard set against. He was from the epitome of poverty; she hailed from the epitome of wealth and success. She was free to make choices; his soul was taken when he was sixteen. She supported a ritual for slaughtering children; he was part of an alliance plotting a Second Rebellion. She was Capitol; he was Renegade.

It simply wasn't an option.

Whatever, it didn't matter. It was just a stupid—dare he say it?—crush. His feelings for Effie will go away eventually. Yeah.

Haymitch reached the kitchen. It was dark. He didn't feel like turning on the light. He didn't really need it. All he needed was a single bottle of whiskey and—_Gah_!_ That was a counter_! Haymitch clutched his side and let out a stream of profanities. He sent a glare to the offending countertop and searched through the cabinet for a drink.

"Didn't get enough at the party, Haymitch?"

Haymitch jumped at the sound of Effie's voice, banging his head on a shelf in the liquor cabinet. He swore again. "Geez, woman," he muttered, rubbing the sore spot on the top of his head. "No. They never have anything strong enough for me at those stupid shindigs." He found a bottle worthy of his craving, unplugged the cork with his teeth, and took a deep swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to face her. She was staring out the window, hugging herself and, shockingly, sans her usual garish get-up. "What are you doing up this late? Shouldn't you be sleeping so you can be refreshed and 'up, up, up,' bright and early?" He chuckled mockingly.

Effie's lips twitched. "Just admiring the splendor," she replied.

Haymitch snorted and sauntered over towards her. It was so strange seeing her without her costume. Standing directly next to him, she looked almost human. "Sooo," he drawled out. She turned to look at him. He smirked and gave her a once-over, eyes deliberately going over her body in slow motion. "This is what you look like without all of that colorful crap you parade around in."

Effie frowned, hugging her arms tighter. "It is not 'crap,' as you so rudely put it. It is the latest in Capitol fashion."

"Uh-huh. Right." He took in her hair. She had even taken off her wig. He's never seen her natural hair before. He grabbed a strand, rubbing it between his fingers. Granted it wasn't a natural _color_, but it was remarkably soft compared to the rough texture of her wigs. It felt like real hair. "So this is what's been hiding underneath those wigs."

Effie's eyes didn't leave his face. He continued staring at her hair in grim fascination. There was something…something vaguely familiar about this strange color. He twirled it around his first finger. "Grey?" he asked and met her gaze. No, not exactly grey. Grey was for the elderly, and this steely pigment didn't make Effie look the least bit old. In fact it made her pale skin stand out even further, her navy eyes popping. What was so familiar about her features at this moment? He studied her intensely, keeping the strand around his finger. He was sure he'd never before seen her like this.

Effie searched his eyes, trying to find the meaning in the look he was giving her. "S-silver."

He grunted, looking at the strand he was holding. Slowly—painstakingly slowly—he reached his hand around her head and gently pulled the rest of her hair over her shoulder, his fingers running through it as it fell, like a metallic waterfall. It was silken and breathtakingly gorgeous. He was surprised he liked this unnatural color so much. It wasn't a typical blonde, brunette, or redhead. It was so obviously dyed. But it _fit_ her. And quite honestly, he loved it. "It's nice," he murmured. He continued to run his fingers through her hair as if he had never before felt hair in his life. The way it shined, the way it felt—it was all so entrancing.

"Thank you," she whispered, regarding him carefully.

His fingers moved to cradle the back of her head, almost massaging it. She involuntarily leaned into his touch and sighed through her nose. Haymitch almost smiled as he spread his fingers. She looked so calm, so content. She looked as peaceful as an angel.

_Angel_!

He snatched his hand back, almost pulling her hair with it. He turned to the window, not daring to gauge her expression. He cleared his throat. "Well." He took a long swig. "Good night." He walked briskly out of the room. He didn't stop, not even to take a drink, until he reached the inside of his room and slammed the door.

Haymitch leaned back against the door. He ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to get the sensation of Effie's hair out of his fingers. Effie's enthralling silver hair. The hair of an _angel_.

He shook his head and let out a chuckle of disbelief. After all these years—it's been what, nine? These nine years he had always thought he dreamt that beautiful ghost of a woman. The woman who had made him feel so very safe.

The only woman to ever make him feel _whole_.

And she was _real_. She wasn't a figment of his imagination. She wasn't some fantasy he dreamed. She was palpable, alive, and right in front of him this entire time. But she was _Effie_. It was one thing to like her, but to find out she was the one who completed him? It didn't make sense.

Well…

In a sense, he supposed, it did. He admitted once he couldn't survive without her. That was still true. The very thought of Effie walking out of his life forever filled him with a panic so sharp, it felt like a machete slicing through his chest. When he was back in his house at the Victor's Village, he tended to drink more out of sheer loneliness and desire to squash his nightmares. When he was with Effie in the Capitol—aside from the eve of the launches—he wouldn't say he drank _less_, but he didn't drink the hardest liquor he could find (save for that incident nine years ago that has him in this particular conundrum).

The woman was insufferable, but if he was honest with himself, he wasn't miserable around her. Quite the opposite. He found joy in teasing her and testing her patience as she tested his. Arguing with her was the only time he felt alive. And being around her was the only time he felt cared for—he didn't feel alone. Around Effie he felt…

He truly felt whole.

Haymitch banged his head on the door repeatedly, swearing a different vulgarity with each beat. _There's no "like" here, Abernathy. You're in love with this woman, and there is_ no way _you're getting out of it_.

* * *

When Haymitch got off the train in District Twelve, he didn't go to the Victor's Village. He went directly to the cemetery.

* * *

Haymitch stared at the little stake sticking up out of the grave mound. There were three mounds, but he was focused on only one. He swallowed thickly to restrain the tears that were threatening to blur the stake's engraving.

_Violet_.

Everything in him screamed to turn back. Go back to the Victor's Village and guzzle every bottle available. Ignore the pain, ignore the shame, and ignore the guilt. No, don't ignore it. _Drown_ it.

No. No, he needed to be here. He needed to talk to Violet.

Haymitch sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled it slowly. "Vi," he cracked. He cleared his throat, shoving back the tears once more. "Hey, Vi. Haven't been to visit in a while. I suppose I should apologize for that, but you'd probably just laugh at me. I know you wouldn't blame me for not stopping by more often. But that doesn't mean I should have stayed away."

Haymitch ground his teeth together against his ache for a drink. He purposefully didn't bring anything. He was going to be sober for her.

"Something's happened, sweetheart. I don't know how, but it did. I'm not sure how to tell you this. I could hardly even tell myself." He smiled wetly. "But you did always know how to wrestle a secret out of me, didn't you, sweetheart? And let me tell ya, Violet, this one's a doozy."

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. If she were here, she'd take his hand, squeeze it, then reassure him that he could tell her anything. She may mock him for it for a bit, but she'll help him get through whatever it was that was happening. Heaven above, he missed her.

"Vi, I…" He looked up and closed his eyes, his fingernails digging into his neck. "I fell in love, Violet," he whispered. "I didn't want to. It was an accident. I don't even know how I did, but…but it happened, sweetheart. I actually fell in love."

His breath hiked. He wasn't able to stop the few tears beginning to slide down his dirty cheeks. "And I'm _so sorry_, Violet. I promise I didn't do this on purpose. I never wanted to fall in love with her. She snuck up on me, came from behind. It was an onslaught. But I should have defended myself. I should have kept my guard up. I should have tried to fight it—to fight for you. But I didn't. And I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Haymitch paused. He took a few breaths, trying to calm his erratic emotions. He continued when he finally regained control. "I wanted to marry you so badly, Vi. I wanted you so much. That's what I don't understand. How could I have wanted you so much I practically ached for you, but I was never in love with you? And how could I fall in love with this woman whom I know I never wanted, and probably never will? This is so messed up. I just don't get it.

"Violet, you and I were the same. We were one in almost every sense except physically. You made me feel at home. There wasn't a thing wrong with you and me. She and I—well, we fight. A lot. We couldn't be more opposite if we tried. You'd probably hate her. Not because I love her, but because of who she is. She embodies the very thing we stood against. How could I fall for someone like that?"

Haymitch hung his head. "Heaven above, you have no idea how much I hate myself right now. I've betrayed you in almost every possible way, sweetheart. You deserved so much better than me." He pressed his palms against his eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Vi."

He heard somebody clear their throat behind him. He lifted his head just enough to see whoever it was come into view from the side. He furrowed his brows in confusion, face heating from embarrassment that another human being probably heard his soliloquy. Although he didn't expect to see _her_.

"Haymitch?"

Haymitch blinked at her a few times. "Poppy?" _Poppy Everdeen_. He hadn't talked to her in a while. Not since she and Kennet got married twelve years ago. She looked different. Her blonde hair was limp, her body skin and bones, and her eyes dull and lifeless. She looked as awful as he felt. "How much did you hear?"

She sighed. "Enough." He nodded in reply, face heating further. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was just passing through."

Haymitch shrugged one shoulder. "S'alright, sweetheart."

Poppy Everdeen pressed her lips in a thin line. "Violet was a wonderful girl, Haymitch."

He glared at Poppy. What right did she have to say that? She didn't know Violet. She was a Town girl who hung out with Maysilee and Marjorie. Sure, Poppy was nice to everyone who talked to her and would heal anyone who asked (often for free if you were from the Seam), but she didn't go out of her way to make conversation with others (except Kennet). As far as he knew, Poppy never personally sought out Violet. "What could you possibly know about Violet, Pops?" She gave him a look. She never did like that nickname. "From what I remember, you two weren't exactly buddy-buddy with each other."

Poppy sighed again. He was wondering if that was her one way of expressing emotion. "We _didn't_ interact much. That is, until the Second Quarter Quell."

Haymitch flinched. "Why would you two talk during my Hunger Games?"

"In case you forgot, Haymitch, one of my best friends was Reaped that year. My parents and I weren't on the best of terms, Marjorie was indisposed from her headaches, and Kennet was—" Poppy choked on a sudden sob. She bit her lip hard, trying to compose herself. " And Violet lost _you_. She came in the apothecary with your little brother the evening of the Opening Ceremonies. He had a bad stomachache and needed some medicine. We got to talking, and we found comfort in each other. We would watch the Games together."

Haymitch grunted and looked at Violet's stake. "She never mentioned it."

"She probably thought it wasn't important. She talked about you a lot, though, while you were in the Games." Poppy smiled softly.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Mostly about you two getting married." She looked at him carefully as if she were afraid he'd run off like a skittish rabbit. "I heard it wasn't able to happen before she…well. Before." Haymitch only shook his head, too overcome with emotion to speak clearly. "Forgive me for bringing this up. You know, everyone in school always thought you two would get married eventually. We thought you both were so in love." Poppy furrowed her light eyebrows. "But you said earlier that you weren't?"

Haymitch closed his eyes and bit his tongue. He really didn't want to be talking to someone else about this. But, what the heck? Poppy was there, and she had a connection to Violet that he hadn't had while in the arena. "No, we weren't in love."

"So why get married?"

Haymitch's temper flared. "Because I loved her, Pops! She was my best friend, practically my soul mate! I loved her more than anyone. I would have gone to hell and back for her five times over. I'd take her place now, if I could. I _loved_ her, Poppy. I just wasn't _in love_ with her."

Poppy tilted her head as if she had never heard of anything like it. She probably hadn't, and he wouldn't blame her. He and Violet had a special connection not many people would understand. But that didn't mean that they were head over heels for each other. "Was she in love with you, Haymitch?"

He looked at the grave again. "Actually, no, Poppy, she wasn't. There were a couple of times when I thought maybe she could have been. But I knew her better than she knew herself, and I can say with absolute certainty that _no_ she was not in love with me." He looked Poppy in the eyes. "But she loved me just as much as I loved her."

She bit her lip. "I know this isn't any of my business, Haymitch. But if you two weren't in love then…what is so bad about you being in love now?"

He glowered. "You're right, Pops. It isn't any of your business."

"Haymitch. This is obviously eating you up inside. Now, please, why is it a bad thing to be in love _right now_?"

Haymitch ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "Because I promised Violet I would marry her."

Poppy put her hand and his shoulder. She smiled apologetically. "But, Haymitch," she said gently, "she isn't here anymore. Don't you think that lets you off the hook?"

He wrenched from her grasp. "No. I promised her. I promised her I would marry her no matter what happened."

Poppy nodded. She looked at Violet's grave. "Haymitch, you said that Violet loved you more than anything, yes?"

"Yes."

She met his gaze. "Then don't you think she'd want you to be happy? If you've fallen in love—as deeply as you seemed to make it out earlier—don't you think she would respect that?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it, though? Haymitch, tell me something, please. Let's say Violet was still alive, and you two were still planning on getting married. But what if _she_ fell in love, Haymitch? What if she found someone who _completed_ her?" Haymitch averted his eyes. "If she fell in love, would you still marry her?"

Haymitch sighed. "No, I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I want nothing more than Violet's happiness. If she found someone she couldn't—uh, survive—without, then I'd let her go. I'd want her to be happy."

"Then don't you think she'd do the same for you?" Haymitch said nothing. Poppy crossed her arms, not out of frustration against him, but as if she were cold in the humid cemetery. "Do you know why I came here, Haymitch?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't."

She sniffled. "I came to visit Kenny. He died a few months ago." _Kennet died_? "This is the first time I've been out in months."

"You haven't been out of your house in months?"

She frowned, an expression of shame filling her features. "No. I loved Kenny more than life itself. When he died in that mine explosion, a part of me died with him. I feel like I'm not whole anymore. I was in a sickened trance for the longest time, Haymitch."

Haymitch scanned over her. She must not have eaten that much in her trance. She had lived in the Seam with Kennet so she didn't have much to begin with. But this gauntness she bore was more than just having little—it was self-starvation. She might not have even tried to eat through her mourning. "What made you snap out of it, sweetheart?"

An incomprehensible grief overcame Poppy. She looked like she would buckle from whatever guilt she was clearly feeling. "My oldest girl. She gave me a much needed slap in the face in the shape of a squirrel." Haymitch raised an eyebrow. "It was something my little girl should never have had to do. But it's done now, and there's not much I can do about it. Except one thing. Today I was going to visit Kenny's grave one last time. And then I'm never coming back."

"Why not?"

Poppy took a deep breath. "Because I need to look after my two daughters. It's time I moved on with my life. Just because Kenny is dead doesn't mean I have to _act_ dead. Life goes on. It's time _I_ go on." She turned to Haymitch and nodded to him. "It's time you do the same. Violet would want you to move on with your life. She'd want you to be happy and in love. You need to move on, Haymitch."

She walked away, deeper into the cemetery. Haymitch stared at Violet's grave, his eyes threatening to spill over. For once, he let the tears flow. He'll cry one last time for Violet. Poppy _was_ right. Violet would feel horrible if she knew he was sheltering himself like this. She may even yell at him for it (she'd also yell at him for the alcohol, but he could only do one thing at a time). She'd want him to move on. She'd want him to be happy.

She'd want him to fall in love.

* * *

"Princess, I understand you're a woman. I understand that you're currently in an awkward position. But _do not_ ask me to go get tampons for you. Next time, ask an Avox. I already have to deal with the blood of children. I don't need to deal with yours, too."

* * *

Haymitch took a long drink from his glass, rattling the ice and wincing when the chill hit the skin above his upper lip. He tried to block out the girl Tribute's wails. This was going to be a tough year. He had two twelve-year-olds this year. He couldn't say he was necessarily surprised. For the last Games, all of the Tributes had been between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. The fact that the Capitol felt there weren't enough little ones sickened him to his core.

He really hated this place.

He didn't see the point in taking two little ones from District Twelve. They were going to die quickly. There low training scores basically solidified their fate. It wasn't going to be interesting.

Haymitch guessed President Snow wanted the Districts to remember that _no one_ was safe, no matter for how long or short.

"Well, this is just nonsense!" Effie shouted.

Haymitch's eyebrows shot up from behind his glass. The boy whipped his head in her direction, and the girl was reduced to startled sniffles. Effie straightened her shoulders in defense. "Well, it is! We can't send these two into the Games! Did you see those scores?"

The two Tributes flinched. Haymitch glared at her. "Effie—"

She stood up and pointed at him. "Don't you _Effie_ me, mister! Just because you were too drunk to properly train these two doesn't mean I'm going to sit here and do nothing! There has to be _something_ that can be done!"

Haymitch stood up and towered over her. She was dangerously close to saying something that will get her in serious trouble if the Capitol overheard. And in this penthouse? Bugs were everywhere. "Effie, _watch it_."

She refused to back down. "I will not! Putting two twelve-year-olds into that arena is vile!"

Haymitch's eyes flashed. "Woman, if you don't _shut your mouth_—"

"They're going to _die_, Haymitch!" The girl wailed. "I won't just sit here and stand for this…this…_injustice_!"

_Shit_. Haymitch growled and lunged at her. Before Effie could raise her hands in protection, he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder. He briefly marveled at how light she was.

Effie screeched and pounded her fists on his back. "Put me down this instant!" The girl continued to cry as the boy watched in terrified fascination while Haymitch carried Effie out of the room.

Effie continued to shout at him. "Haymitch Abernathy, if you don't put me down right now, so help me I will—Ow!" Haymitch dropped her, none too gently, into his shower. He turned on the water full blast, successfully drenching her in seconds. She screeched and flailed around. "_Haymitch_!"

He glared down at her. "I'll turn it off once you cool down."

"You are the most insufferable—"

"Yeah, that's not cool, sweetheart." Effie huffed and crossed her arms. Once Haymitch was sure she wouldn't start trying to burst his eardrum, he turned off the shower. She spat water at him. He crouched down until his face was inches from hers. She glared at him with equal force. "Now you listen to me," he hissed. "It doesn't matter how wrong it is. The fact of the matter is that those kids _are_ going into the arena in a few days. And you need to understand that there is nothing, _nothing_, that neither you nor I can do about it. In fact, you probably just scared those two kids even more shitless than they already were."

"They're just _babies_, Haymitch!"

He ran a hand through his hair. He was well aware of that, thank you very much. "You think I don't know that? _I'm_ their mentor! Trust me, if I could actually keep them from death, I _would_." _Just like I'm trying to keep_ you _from death right now, crazy lady_.

"Then let me out of this shower! We'll go to Seneca, Plutarch, _somebody_, and try to keep these kids out of there!"

Haymitch gripped her shoulders. "Do you even hear what you're saying, Effie? Do you even realize how much trouble you're in right now?"

Effie narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about? These kids are about to die. How could I be the one in trouble?"

"This place is bugged, Effie! Bugged!" He shook her, a terror he couldn't describe overwhelming him. "Do you know what that means?" He took a deep breath. "It means the Capitol—President Snow—can hear every word you're saying." He swore. "You have no idea how much trouble you're in now because of what you said back there." He stood up running his hand through his hair again. There was no way Snow was going to let her outburst go unpunished.

She eyed him warily. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "What I mean is," he met her eyes, "don't be surprised if you find yourself or someone you love dead within the week."

* * *

As soon as Effie and Haymitch stepped on the train to return him to District Twelve, an Avox came towards Effie with a phone on a silver platter. He gestured the platter towards her, letting her know the call was for her. Effie took the phone, sharing a confused look with Haymitch. They rarely got personal calls when they were traveling. What could this be about? She nodded to the Avox, letting him know that he could leave.

"Hello?"

Haymitch couldn't hear what the person on the other line was saying, and he couldn't see her face; but as he watched Effie's stance go from confusion, to horror, to crushed, to blank in a matter of seconds, he just _knew_ President Snow had carried out her punishment. And as the phone slipped from her hand onto the floor, he was positive it had something to do with death. He'd recognize the signs of undiluted grief anywhere.

"Eff?" he asked gently. "Effie, you alright, sweetheart?" It was a rhetorical question he already knew the answer to. She didn't respond, didn't even give a sign she heard him. She only stared into space, completely zoned out from the world she was finally seeing for what it was.

She slowly turned around to face him. He looked back at her, expression guarded, but full of pity. A sob tore through her, and she flung herself into Haymitch. He stiffened, arms limp by his sides, as she clutched him with all of the strength she had left in her. He wasn't used to comforting. He hadn't done so in years. And face it, he knew he wasn't the most sensitive guy around. But he knew he had to do something for his crushed escort. No one should be going through this. And he knew better than anyone the absolute need for another's presence when everything seemed so bleak and hopeless.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her just as tightly. She cried harder. She mumbled names—presumably the victims. She drenched his shirt with her tears. Her long nails tore holes in the back of his shirt from her grip. They tore at his heart. There was a time when Haymitch wished that Effie would realize how terrible the Capitol truly was. Now he wanted to kill President Snow for taking away her innocence. But he couldn't kill him. Not yet. The Rebellion wasn't ready yet. Time was drawing closer; he could feel lit in his bones. Just not yet.

So he held her as she cried, muttering soothing words. But not once did he tell her it would be okay.

They both knew things were far from okay.

* * *

It killed Haymitch as he watched Effie regress into herself. She became the picture-perfect example of a model Capitol citizen. It infuriated him. Whatever happened to him during the Rebellion, he was going to make sure Snow would regret ever harming little Effie Trinket.

* * *

"There is this lovely invention called a toothbrush. Why don't you look into it?"

"There is this lovely invention called a muzzle. Why don't _you_ look into it?"

* * *

Haymitch didn't always drink himself into unconsciousness. Sometimes he would go to bed sober, or just a little out of his wits. He always had nightmares, but they weren't always unbearable. Once in a while he was able to fall back asleep, though it wasn't often. But there were still nights when he would wake up in utter terror, drenched with sweat, and gasping for air. Those were the nights when he would wander around the train or the penthouse. Nine times out of ten he would walk to Effie's room and peek in while she was sleeping, just to make sure she was still there—she was still safe.

Only then could he go back to sleep.

* * *

Haymitch stood in Effie's doorway, leaning his side against the frame with his arms crossed. "Are you ready yet?"

Effie turned from her wig shelf. It was time for the Closing Ceremonies for the Seventy-Second Annual Hunger Games. And for once, he was ready to go before she was. She didn't even have her makeup or wig on. By the looks of it, she was trying to figure out which spawn of a sheep and a crayon box she should wear. She held up two wigs on their respective mannequin heads and held them up for him to see. "What do you think, Haymitch? Bronze or Cream?"

Haymitch rolled his eyes and struggled with his tie. "Do you really think I care, princess?" _You look better without it, anyway_. He gave a hard tug and swore. "You'd think after twenty years they'd figure out that I _hate_ these things!"

Effie tsked her tongue and replaced her mannequins on their shelf. She walked over to the struggling drunkard. "Honestly, Haymitch," she said as she began fixing his tie. "It's a tie, not a noose."

"What's the difference?" he grumbled. She stood in such close contact with him, he could smell her lavender and vanilla perfume. It was doing a mind-numbing number on his body. Could he just hold her this close forever?

Effie chuckled. "I don't I need to tell _you_ the difference. Besides, I think they make you look quite handsome." She gave a final pull as the tie slid into its proper place around his neck. She smiled up at him at gave him a quick double-pat on his chest. "There you are! Good as…new?"

Haymitch caught her hand and stared at her intensely. Her outfit hugged her every curve, she smelled delicious, her gorgeous face was natural, and her flawless silver hair was loose. He was slowly losing control over himself. Everything in him screamed how much he needed her. To feel her, touch her, _have_ her. He traced lazy circles in her palm. "You know," he said huskily. "You look much better without all of that ridiculous make-up caked on your face."

He bent his head closer to hers. She gulped audibly. "Oh, did I forget to put it on?" She let out a breathy chuckle. "Silly me, I must have forgotten with my wig situation."

He continued moving closer, slowly inching his way forward. For once, he was glad he had chosen sobriety for the evening. "H-Haymitch?"

He was a breath away. He'll move away if she said something. "Effie."

Effie licked her lips. _Screw that_. The movement was too tempting to pass her up. He wanted her _now_. His mouth crashed onto hers in a heated rush. He heard Effie gasp past the electric shock spreading through his veins. Haymitch immediately deepened the kiss. Heaven above, why didn't he think about doing this before?

Effie slid her hands from Haymitch's chest, past his neck, and dug her fingers into his dark curls. Haymitch growled in the back of his throat and pushed her back into the wall. He had never felt like this before. If he had never known passion, this for sure defined it beyond reason. Everything in him sang in response to what she was doing to him. He craved more of her.

His mouth moved against hers, hot and urgent. She tasted like cherries, peppermint, and something that was entirely Effie. His stubble scratched her ever so slightly, creating those familiar goose bumps over her skin that ignited a fire of pleasure in his chest. She dug her fingers deeper into his hair. He responded by pressing her even further into the wall, needing her to do it again. His hands moved slowly up her sides, bare from the cut in her dress. Her smooth, velvet skin burned his fingertips. She let out a tiny moan into his mouth.

Haymitch's eyes shot open, realizing just what they were doing. He tore away from her with a gasp. She looked up at him, confused and dazed, chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. He looked back, petrified. "Shit," was all he said. "Effie, I—I didn't…Drink. I need a drink." With that he spun around and practically ran out of her room.

* * *

Haymitch avoided her the rest of the night. Well, more like he drank so much that he passed out before the Closing Ceremonies were over.

How could he be so stupid? Who knows to what that kiss would have led?

There was no doubt in Haymitch's mind that Effie felt the same for him as he felt for her. He would think that the knowledge would fill him with elation. Instead, it filled him with an almost unbearable dread. If President Snow were to find out…

He _would_ find out. And that would leave Effie in grave danger. He wasn't going to let that happen to her. He's lost enough in his lifetime. He's lost Maysilee, his mother, Glenn, and Violet. He barely made it through their deaths.

He would never make it through Effie's.

* * *

She intercepted him before he could grab a bottle when they boarded the returning train. He was already sufficiently tipsy. She took the bottle from his hands as he raised it to his lips. He was rewarded with a stream of beer in his face. He coughed and sputtered, wiping his face with the end of his shirt.

Effie slammed the bottle on the table. "Haymitch, we are going to talk about that kiss like two mature adults."

Haymitch flinched but tried to play it off under a nonchalant façade. "You come back for more, sweetheart?" _Smooth, Abernathy. Now what would you do if she actually took you up on that offer_?

Effie threw her hands in the air. "How can I come back for more? We haven't even discussed the first!"

Haymitch shrugged, attempting to reach for his bottle. Effie blocked him. _Just walk away, sweetheart. You're going to force me to hurt you more than I already am._ "What's there to talk about?"

"Why did you do it? Why did you kiss me just to avoid me like the plague afterwards?"

He smirked. "Maybe you were a bad kisser?"

Effie glared and put her hands on her hips. "Well, you certainly weren't complaining then!" Haymitch blinked at her. He couldn't deny that. "Answer me, Haymitch!"

He cringed. "I was drunk," he offered lamely.

"You and I both know you were one-hundred percent sober."

Haymitch glared at her. "Does it really matter? It was a mistake. An accident."

Effie let her arms fall to her side and met his glare. "An accident." She shook her head. "So I'm to believe that you practically maul me, avoid me for days, and you are attempting to write this off as an accident?"

Haymitch nodded. "That's right, sweetheart. A heat of the moment exchange. It meant nothing."

"Nothing?" Effie looked him over, pulling at one of her fingers. "Didn't you…feel…anything?"

_Too much. That's the point_. His eyes hardened. He knew what this was going to do to her—to them. He tried to remember that this was for her own good. "No. It meant nothing. I _felt_ nothing. I regretted it the moment it happened."

Effie bit her lip angrily. "I see." She took a deep breath and slipped into escort mode. "Well, then. I suppose that settles it."

Haymitch eyed her warily. She wasn't going to yell at him? "I guess so."

She nodded once. "I think from now on it'll be best if we keep our relationship strictly professional. We will not speak to each other unless it's absolutely necessary and for business purposes only."

He shrugged. "Fine by me. I thought that's what we were doing before this mess."

He cringed inwardly when she huffed out a breath. She looked like he just punched her in the gut. To be honest, he felt like he had as well. She slipped a neutral mask on her face. "Good day, Mr. Abernathy."

He reached around her and grabbed his bottle. He raised it towards her in a toast. "Good day, Ms. Trinket."

* * *

"Would you _for once_ try to act like a normal human being?"

"Sister, you should _not_ be lecturing me about normal. Have you ever even looked in a mirror?"

"Oh, please. At least I'm covered in what is considered fashionable. You, on the other hand, are covered in filth. You're like a walking bacterium."

"So how 'bout a hug then, sweetheart? Maybe if I get you infected you'll be so sick that I won't have to see your annoying face."

"If I wasn't so worried about getting dirt under my fingernails I would slap you all the way back to District Twelve, you infuriating inebriate!"

"Chaff, mommy and daddy are fighting again."

"Shut _up_, Finnick!"

* * *

When Effie demanded he meet her in the dining cart on their way to the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, he didn't do it because she threatened to burn the liquor. He did it because, for the first time since they began working together, she had a spark of hope and determination in her eyes. And he was burning with curiosity to know what put it there.

* * *

Haymitch stumbled into the cart. He felt awful. Effie passed him a cup of coffee after he sat down. He growled at the offending liquid. "Sometimes, woman, I really hate you."

Effie poured her own cup. "This isn't news to me, Haymitch. If you were to pay me a compliment _then_ I would faint from shock."

He smiled drily. "Noted for future reference." He took a sip. The bitter taste made him frown. "So what's with the sudden interaction and threats? Why suddenly care that I mentor these kids 'properly?'"

Effie gave him a look. "Believe it or not, Haymitch, I've always cared. I just understood that you didn't bother with those who you believed didn't have a prayer. But these kids have a _chance_, Haymitch. A real fighting chance." He raised his eyebrows. "That boy—he has charisma I haven't seen since Finnick Odair. Except Peeta's is actual charm, not just looks. He could win through sponsors alone. And the girl? She's a survivor. She'll win through sheer willpower. With her sister at home, she'll stop at nothing to win."

Haymitch propped his chin in his hand, his grey eyes calculating. "That's a pretty speech, sweetheart."

"I'm serious, Haymitch." She sighed. "Look, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones if you agree to seriously help these kids. Do we have a deal?"

Haymitch grinned broadly. He was proud of this flighty escort. She was actually showing some backbone—for the Tributes, no less. And in a way that _wasn't_ going to get her into trouble. "Alright, Effie, you got yourself a deal. These kids prove to me that they're every bit a fighter as you claim, and I'll stay sober enough to train them." He stuck out his hand.

She smiled and shook it. She took her coffee and began heading out of the cart.

"Oh, hey, Eff?"

Before Effie could turn around, he smacked her hard on her ass. He laughed as she yelped and jumped two feet in the air.

"That's for this morning, sweetheart."

Effie grumbled, opening the door and pushing past a newly arrived Katniss, Haymitch's chuckles echoing after her.

* * *

_"What better story is there than two star-crossed lovers from the same District? Imagine it—a love story doomed from the start. They'd eat that shit up!"_

Haymitch stared at Peeta in amazement. This boy was in love with Katniss Everdeen. He was actually in love with his fellow District Tribute. They could pull off the star-crossed lovers angle. He could put Violet's theory to the test.

_Vi, there just may be a full Rebellion on the rise_.

* * *

If Haymitch failed to bring both Katniss and Peeta home, he was beyond relieved that Peeta elected to die in Katniss's place. Haymitch didn't think he'd be able to choose between the two of them. And if they _both_ died… Well, there wasn't enough alcohol in the world that would be able to mollify him. It hurt enough to look at them when they were alive.

When Haymitch looked at Katniss, all he could see was Violet. It scared him. Katniss was the daughter he was positive he would have if he and Vi had ever gotten married. She had Haymitch's intelligence and fight, but she had Violet's devotion to family and sass (at least, where it concerned him).

Peeta, on the other hand…Peeta was the son he was positive he and Effie would have had. Peeta had Haymitch's ability to read people and gauge other's emotions (however, Peeta used it for good whereas Haymitch used it for sarcasm and mockery), but he had Effie's sensitivity and orator's skill.

They were essentially the kids Haymitch would never have. And how could he possibly choose between them? One thing was for sure: Either these Games were going to be his greatest achievement in his life, or the worst murders he would ever commit.

* * *

Haymitch watched Katniss and Peeta take their final bow at the Closing Ceremonies with grave pride. He saw Plutarch Heavensbee step into his peripheral vision.

"Panem is simply enchanted by the girl on fire," Plutarch said, voice laced with contemplation and awe.

Haymitch nodded, arms crossed over his tuxedo-clad chest. "They sure are, Heavensbee."

Plutarch turned to him with a glint of ecstatic determination in his eyes. "You're thinking what I'm thinking aren't you, Haymitch?"

Haymitch looked back at Katniss. His heart grew heavy. He did know. That didn't mean he liked that his spunky female replica was going to get involved. She had a bleak future ahead of her. Unfortunately, so did the boy. "We've found our leader—our symbol for rebellion."

Plutarch nodded. "We've found our Mockingjay."

* * *

Haymitch stared blankly at the wall in front of him in the dining cart. He was holding a scotch glass in one hand, but amazingly, not drinking from it. He was on his way back to District Twelve—with two Victors.

Two Victors who would no longer have a life of their own. After their stunt with the berries—President Snow was already plotting some sort of revenge scheme, he was sure of it. They'll be puppets for the Capitol whether they like it or not. And soon, Katniss will be a puppet for the Second Rebellion. It wouldn't be long now before Plutarch would rally her to District Thirteen. This poor girl was never going to get a break from either side.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to pity her. If Katniss was anything like him, she'd eventually go along with the Rebellion. It would just take some convincing. But if it meant keeping Prim, Peeta, and whomever else she held dear safe, she'd do it. That's one of the reasons Haymitch couldn't bring himself to regret using a sixteen-year-old Seam girl to start war against President Snow. It was going to keep his loved ones safe in the long run.

He was vaguely aware of Effie coming into the cart and confiscating his glass. He didn't acknowledge her. He had too much on his mind. He wondered how long it would be until Katniss and Peeta got a friendly warning from the notorious leader of Panem.

She put a glass of wine in front of him. His hand automatically grabbed it out of habit. She sat across from him, sipping from her own glass. He heard her sigh after a while. "Haymitch, you just brought home two Victors. You should be more cheerful than this. To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised you haven't used this excuse to become even more inebriated than usual." He made no response. "It's over now. They're safe, Haymitch."

_They were_ safe? As long as those two were alive, they were going to be in constant danger! He slammed his fist against the table. Effie flinched. "Safe?" he hissed. He looked at her angrily. "You think those two are _safe_? They will _never_ be safe!" He ignored his glass and instead took a big gulp straight from the bottle.

Effie grimaced. "But at least they're not _dead_."

Haymitch barked a laugh. "No, they're not dead. Not dead." Not physically, anyway. But the Katniss and Peeta they were before the Hunger Games were killed the moment she had drawn Peeta's and Primrose's name from the Reaping ball.

They sat in silence, drinking their wine—Effie from her glass, Haymitch from the bottle. This was likely the final time they would have to do something like this. Now that Haymitch had two Victors added into District Twelve's pool, he would no longer be of service to mentor the Games. He wouldn't even have the option. Katniss and Peeta were the golden couple—the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve. Each District was only allowed two Victors—one male and one female—to mentor, plus an escort to help with sponsors and Interview training. There was no way they'd let anyone but Katniss and Peeta mentor. The lovers must train the Tributes. (It would be like raising children to the Capitol. And then _their_ children will be Reaped once old enough.) Haymitch was finished with the Games. That means he'll most likely never see Effie again.

"You know, this is our last year together, Effie?"

Effie furrowed her eyebrows. He didn't look at her. "What are you talking about?"

Haymitch took another swig. "After the Victory Tour, I'll be done." He met her eyes. "I won't be a mentor anymore. They'll have Peeta and Katniss now."

Effie looked at the table, looking as though he had announced her puppy had been run over. She knew Haymitch would want to stay as far away from anything to do with the Games or the Capitol as possible. And that included her, no matter how much it would kill him. She just didn't know that it would be for her protection. He wasn't going to give her any reason to be in danger. They were a team. Teammates looked out for each other.

Besides, they'd see each other during the Reaping. As a citizen of District Twelve and former Victor, he was required to attend. He just wouldn't be joining her on the train to the Capitol.

Effie began to cry silent tears. It twisted his insides. Haymitch handed her a napkin. "Now, don't go getting all sentimental on me, sweetheart," he said gruffly. She'll just make it harder.

She laughed wetly. "Sentimental? I'm just so happy I'll no longer have to deal with your antics!"

Haymitch smirked, but his eyes were full of understanding. He knew what she meant. "Don't worry, princess. I plan on making your life hell during the Victory Tour." _We'll make it count_.

* * *

He went on a rampage. He threw tables. He slashed his mattress. He tossed chairs out of windows. He punched holes into walls. He massacred his house, pouring out every drop of fury, agony, and horror into his destruction.

He collapsed against a glass-covered countertop out of exhaustion. He was shaking. It was truly one of his worst nightmares come to life.

_He was going back into the arena_.

Haymitch was planning on saving Peeta even before Katniss came to him. If Peeta's name was called, he was going to volunteer in his place. He'll go into the arena and keep Katniss alive to return to Peeta, even if it meant he'll die in the process. It's not like there was much to live for anyway.

_Don't think of her, don't think of her, don't think of her_.

He could only pray his own name wasn't drawn. If it was, he and Plutarch were going to have to plan a way to get Katniss and Peeta out of that arena. They'll have to break in—or break out—somehow.

* * *

Haymitch never loved Effie more than when she stepped off the train for the Third Quarter Quell Reaping. She was dressed in mockingjay-pin-gold. Most would think it would be to support Katniss. But he knew her inside and out. And he knew by the subtle way her jaw clenched that it was her own way of showing her opposition against the Capitol.

* * *

Effie wouldn't make eye contact with him. He understood. He refused to look at her after he watched her disembark the train. If he did, he might change his mind about the whole plan.

* * *

He knew before she even read the slip aloud that she had drawn his name. He barely had time to throw Katniss a disapproving look before Peeta volunteered in his place. Looks like they would be forced into Plan B. He could tell it wasn't going to end well for anyone.

* * *

Effie let Peeta and Katniss have training day to themselves. Haymitch didn't know how her OCD was allowing the break in schedule. But he wasn't about to argue either. He could use this day of peace as well. He had a lot to think about.

He leaned his palms against the glass wall in the penthouse looking out over the Capitol. His head hung between his arms, his dark curls falling in his face. How on earth were Plutarch, Chaff, Finnick, Beetee, Johanna, and he going to pull this off? Getting one of those kids out of the arena was going to be difficult enough. Were they really going to be able to bring out two? The odds were certainly not in their favor, that's for sure.

He heard Effie enter the room. She walked over and stood next to him. He didn't acknowledge her presence. "You look like you've seen better days."

_You don't say, princess_? "I've got my only two Victors going back into the arena, each expecting me to save the other. Do you expect me to be jumping for joy?"

"Not at all." She fell silent, shifting her stance from foot to foot. "You lost weight?"

Haymitch laughed. Leave it to Effie to focus on looks when he was focusing on imminent death. "You would think about appearances during a time like this." Effie pursed her lips. "But, yeah, princess, I guess I did. I suppose that's what happens when a lovesick bread boy goes Career on your ass. It was nothing but conditioning and alcohol-free diets until the Third Quarter Quell Reaping."

Effie hesitated. "Haymitch…did you want to go into the Games?"

Haymitch pushed himself off the window and looked at her. "What?"

She fumbled with a little black box in her hands. "If I had chosen Peeta's name out of the bowl, would you have volunteered?"

He stared at her long and hard. "Yes," he finally answered in a low voice.

"Why?"

He didn't reply. He just looked out the window. He wasn't about to explain the Rebellion to her. She may not be completely Capitol anymore, but she was still Capitol. And she was too fragile to bear this kind of burden.

"I'm glad I didn't draw his name then."

Haymitch snapped his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes. Did she forget that the Tribute _she_ happened to favor was now going into the arena? "Effie—"

"No!" she shouted. "Listen to me! Do you have any idea how I felt when I drew your name out of that bowl? Any idea at all? For a fleeting moment I thought you were going to _die_."

Haymitch sneered. But it was okay if Peeta was about to die? _Real fair, sweetheart_. "Yes, I'm sure it must have been very hard for you."

"It was!"

"Oh, really? And why is that?"

Effie crossed her arms and glared at him. "Did you ever think that _maybe_ I don't hate you as much as you and I like to pretend?"

He smirked. "Who's pretending?"

Hurt flashed through her eyes. "Forget it," she spat. She turned to walk away.

Haymitch grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. "Okay, okay, I get it. Not funny."

Effie yanked her wrist free, but she didn't leave. "You. Are. Impossible."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah. I've heard." He needed to change the subject. Otherwise they'd tread into dangerous territory neither was ready to face. He gestured a hand towards Effie's black box. "So what's in that thing? You've been holding it this whole time."

Effie feigned indifference. "Oh, it's nothing really." Haymitch immediately stiffened, his ingrained intuition screaming that danger was coming. _Run, Abernathy, run_! Effie opened the box and held up a gold bracelet with an intricate pattern of flames etched into it. "Just a little something for you to wear during the Games…"

Haymitch began backing up. "No way."

Effie bristled. "Honestly, Haymitch, it's just a bracelet. Now put it on." She stalked forward—Haymitch continued backwards. It was like a childish game of cat and mouse.

"The only way I'm wearing that thing is if you force it on me!"

"You're acting like a child. Don't you want to support Katniss and Peeta?"

Haymitch put the couch between them. "I think I can do that just fine without wearing any jewelry."

"Don't think of it as jewelry. Think of it as a badge of honor!"

They stared at each other, just daring the other to cave in first. Haymitch will have to distract her in order to get out of this trap. He noticed that her gold wig was falling slightly to the side. _Aha_! "Okay, fine."

"It's really—what?"

Haymitch nodded to the bracelet. His face was blank of any emotion. "I said I'll wear it. Just unhook it and put it on me."

Effie blinked. "Oh. Well. Alright then." Effie looked down at the bracelet and began undoing the clasp. "I really thought you were going to put up more of a fi—_Haymitch_!"

Haymitch tore off her wig and began running out the door, laughing all the way, waving her wig in the air like a flag. Oh, this was a joyous stress relief! "You'll never take me alive, Trinket!"

"Haymitch Abernathy, you come back here _this minute _and wear this bracelet like a man!"

* * *

"Have you seen Haymitch?"

"Can't say that we have."

"Right. Thank you. Again, my apologies."

"…"

"You so owe us for this, Haymitch."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, sweetheart. Just put it on my tab."

* * *

Haymitch hid in the shadows next to the door leading into his room. Effie should be in here to search for him any minute now. He smirked to himself, enjoying the fact he was able to keep Effie going along with this game. It wasn't often he got to be playful. In fact the last time he remembered acting silly just for the hell of it was close to fifteen years ago. It made him feel incredibly light.

Ah, there she was. Effie tip-toed into his room, looking left and right, hoping to catch him. She stood in baffled silence with the bracelet in her hands. He pounced.

"Sneak attack!"

"Ack!"

Haymitch grabbed Effie around her waist and pulled her to the ground. He twisted around so that he hit the ground first with her landing on top of him. She struggled to get up.

"Oh, no, you don't, princess!"

Haymitch rolled over and pinned Effie on her stomach. He sat on her back—her limbs flailing underneath his weight—and plucked the bracelet from her hands. He held it above his head in triumph. "Ha! I win!"

Effie relented, allowing her arms and legs to go still. She huffed unhappily in defeat. "Fine. You won. Are you happy now, you insufferable child?"

"Sufficiently."

"Ah, you're expounding on your vocabulary. Now, please, let me up."

Haymitch tugged a lock of her loose hair. "Not until you tell me what you've learned today."

Effie heaved a sigh. "You are not wearing the mockingjay bracelet."

"Damn straight."

* * *

Haymitch tucked his shirttail into his pants. It was almost time for the Opening Ceremonies, and he was sure Effie was going to be at his room any minute to pester him about being late. As far as he was concerned, this night could go on as long as possible. He was in no hurry for the launch to approach.

Effie knocked on his door, right on schedule as per usual.

He went to answer the door, but instead he tripped over a stray beer bottle and banged his knee against his bedpost. _Mother-_! He sat on his bed, clutched his knee, and hollered for Effie to enter.

Effie came in and frowned when she saw him. He rolled his eyes at her. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm ready, sweetheart, just give me a minute."

She walked over and stopped directly in front of him. She put her hands on her hips and clucked her tongue. "You most certainly are not ready. Just look at you!"

He scrunched his nose. "What are you talking about, woman? I look—" Effie combed her fingers through his hair. He instantly froze. _Oh, dear heaven_. "What are you doing?"

Effie grunted. "Fixing your hair. It looks like you haven't combed it for weeks."

Haymitch swallowed as her fingers moved in slow, deliberate movements. His body reacted instantly. _No. No, no, no. Not good_! "Effie." His voice was an interesting mixture of squeaky and husky. "Effie, please stop."

"Nonsense. If you're not going to wear the bracelet, you're at least going to be in impeccable condition. If that means I have to fix these untamable curls—" she curled her fingers for emphasis; he clutched the bed until his knuckles turned white "—then so be it!" He clenched his teeth. "Just relax, Haymitch. It won't take that long."

Haymitch warred against himself. This was not a good idea. He should move away _right now_. But this felt so incredibly wonderful… He allowed himself to relax. He gave into the sensation of her fingers running through his hair. He focused on the pink fabric of her dress, his eyes half-lidded.

Haymitch could feel Effie's actions become more intimate. He sighed through his nose and responded by placing his hands on her hips. His thumbs moved in small circles with each motion of her fingers. He loved the way she felt. Effie pulled her hand back, put her fingernails to the front of his hairline, and ever so gently grazed her fingernails back through his hair and along his scalp. _Holy mother of mercy_. His eyes rolled to the back of his head in response.

_Click_.

Haymitch's eyes shot open. He looked at his wrist, where his hand was still resting on Effie's hip. Only now it adorned a gold bracelet with a flaming emblem. He looked at her in shock. She smiled back at him cheekily. "Your hair is finished!"

He glowered. "That was low, princess."

She stepped out of his grasp. His hands fell limply on the bed. "Maybe. But I think it's safe to say you deserved it. Besides, you said you would wear it if I forced it on you."

He grumbled under his breath. "You are an evil, evil, evil woman."

* * *

It was the day that Haymitch had been dreading.

The Third Quarter Quell.

So far, everything was set in place. Plutarch was ready with the District Thirteen captains on standby. They'll have to be prepared to invade at a moment's notice. Finnick, Johanna, and Chaff knew the plan. Beetee had finalized his plan to use the holes in the arena to their advantage. All everyone needed to do was wait for the signal. There wasn't anything to cause suspicion.

Yet Haymitch was incredibly anxious. It didn't help that Effie was pacing like a madwoman. She was waiting to see off Katniss and Peeta before their launch. She obviously wasn't doing well with the time lapse. She just kept walking back and forth, back and forth.

Haymitch was following her with his eyes. "Effie, if you don't quit it, you'll wear a line in the floor."

"I'm sorry, Haymitch, I'm just big, big ball of nerves!"

"Well, that's nothing new," he muttered under his breath.

Effie shot him a look. She restarted her pacing. It was driving him nuts. She wrung her hands. "Is it time yet?"

Haymitch groaned loudly. "For the thousandth time—"

There was a knock. They both looked at the door, confused. An Avox answered it, and four Peacekeeper officials came in. Haymitch stood up. "Can we help you?" he asked in a tone to ensure that they were not welcome. Any time Peacekeepers showed up was never good. They just spelled out disaster.

One of the Peacekeepers stepped forward. "We're here for Effie Trinket."

Haymitch's stomach clenched. _Damn it all to hell_.

Effie furrowed her brows. "I beg your pardon?"

"President Snow has requested a word with you."

_Shitshitshitshitshit_. Haymitch immediately stepped closer to her. He could practically feel the panic radiating out of her pores. This was not okay.

She cleared her throat. "May I ask for what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm afraid the information is classified."

Effie looked at Haymitch, eyes terrified. He met her gaze, stony yet with a hint of apprehension. They seemed to be on the same wavelength. This did not bode well for her. He wasn't sure what they wanted with her, but it obviously wasn't an invitation to tea.

"Ms. Trinket, if you'll please come with us?" The Peacekeeper forcefully took her by the arm and propelled her forward.

"Effie!" He blurted without thinking and followed quickly.

She turned. He looked at her, unsure of what to say. He opened and closed his mouth, words failing him. What _could_ he say? He ached to tell her…but he knew that wasn't possible. The reason she was being summoned was unknown, though he had a feeling. He couldn't give Snow any more leverage against him or Effie. He finally settled for clapping her on the shoulder. "You take care of yourself, sweetheart."

Tears welled up in her eyes. She squeezed the hand on her shoulder. The Peacekeepers shoved her forward.

Somehow he knew that would be the last time he would every see Effie Trinket again.

* * *

Haymitch sat next to Katniss's hospital bed. He gingerly rubbed the gashes on his cheek she had made with her nails. He was disgusted with her. Did she honestly believe that he _wanted_ to leave Peeta behind? He'd take him over Katniss any day. Katniss reminded him too much of himself, too much of his failures.

But _of course_ he had to care about her like she was his daughter. That, and the Rebellion needed her more than they needed Peeta. But he was going to do everything that he could to get Peeta back from the Capitol.

And then he was going to find Effie.

Katniss wasn't the only one who lost someone she loved to President Snow's murderous grasp.

* * *

It's been ninety-one days since he last saw her.

It's been two-thousand-one-hundred and eighty-four hours since he last heard her voice.

It's been one-hundred-thirty-one-thousand and forty minutes since he last talked to her.

It's been barely sixty seconds since he last thought about her.

* * *

Haymitch poured himself into the Rebellion (and his drink when he could get his hands on one). He was going to win this war if it killed him. He was going to win for her.

* * *

Plutarch set the blueprints of Snow's house on Haymitch's desk. Peeta's rescue would soon be under way.

Haymitch nodded. "Get Coin and the volunteers ready. They'll be leaving within the week."

"Haymitch…" Plutarch trailed off.

Something in his tone made Haymitch look up at him suspiciously. "What, Heavensbee?"

"They have her, Haymitch. She's being tortured."

Haymitch froze. "Who's being tortured? Who do they have?"

Plutarch sighed. "They've got Effie."

* * *

They had him. The Rebels had Peeta. They could head towards the plane and get back to District Thirteen.

Haymitch ran in the opposite direction, deeper into Snow's chamber of death. Plutarch yelled at him. They needed to leave _now_.

Haymitch turned sharply to him. "Then go. I'm not leaving here without Effie."

Plutarch eyed him. Finally he nodded and held up his gun. "Let's go find her then."

* * *

"Haymitch, she's in here!"

Haymitch took a shot at an oncoming Peacekeeper. He turned and sprinted towards the room from which Plutarch was shouting. He shoved him aside to get to her. He stopped abruptly when he saw her. His blood ran cold.

"Holy shit."

Effie was lying on the floor in the middle of a vast room. There was nothing in it—no windows, no torture devices, nothing. Just Effie. Though it hardly looked like her. She was horrifically gaunt. Her bones protruded out of her paper-white skin. And that wasn't makeup produced white; that was Death's white. Blood speckled her skin, popping out a garish scarlet against the pallor. She was covered in dried vomit and bile. There were dark shadows under her eyes, her lips were bleeding, and her nose looked broken in several places. Her once bright silver hair was dull, limp, and matted with vomit, sweat, and blood.

Haymitch threw his gun on the ground and ran to her. _Be alive, be alive, be alive, dammit_! He frantically searched for a pulse. It was there but just barely. A few more minutes and he was sure she'd be gone. He needed to get her on a plane _now_ or he'd lose her forever. He gently cradled her in his arms, calling out orders to Plutarch.

"Haymitch…" she murmured.

"Stay with me, sweetheart."

* * *

They got her in the hovercraft. They strapped her to a medical table, hooking her up to a heart monitor. It was all they had until they landed in District Thirteen. She'll just have to hold out until then.

Her head lolled on the table. "I'm flying?" she whispered. It was hardly loud enough to be even a breath, but Haymitch heard it.

He tried to work past the terror bubbling inside of him. "You're flying, princess."

"I don't want to fly." Her breath stuttered. "I want to die."

Haymitch's eyes widened in horror. _What did they do to her? _Before he could say anything, her pulse flat lined. He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. "No. Nonononono!" Haymitch grabbed Effie's face in his hands. "Eff, don't die on me. C'mon, Eff." He slapped her a couple times. "Come on, sweetheart!"

Haymitch began standard chest compressions. He pleaded with each compression.

_Nothing_.

"Plutarch!" he screamed. "Plutarch, help me out here! _Plutarch_!"

Plutarch ran towards them. He and Haymitch both tried their best resuscitating Effie. _Come back to me, Eff_!

* * *

They had to resuscitate Effie three times before they reached District Thirteen.

Haymitch had never been so scared in his life.

* * *

They didn't let Haymitch into her hospital room. They said he was too unstable to be around her. Only Plutarch was allowed to be with her. Haymitch didn't like it, but it made sense (after he threw a giant tantrum). Coin probably wouldn't let him be around her anyway. There was too much to do with the war. And Effie was _Capitol_, therefore she was _traitor_.

He struggled not to punch Coin in the jaw.

* * *

Plutarch entered his quarters looking drained. "She's awake, Haymitch."

Haymitch snapped his head from his paperwork. "How is she?"

Plutarch sighed. "Getting by. She got a little stronger when she found out you weren't dead."

Haymitch blinked. "She thought I was _dead_?" There were many times in which he wished he was.

Plutarch gave him a pained expression. "I don't know what they did to her, Haymitch, but it affected her horribly. Haymitch, she thought she had been in captivity for _years_."

Years? _Heaven above_.

* * *

Effie was deemed suitable for visitors three weeks later. But Haymitch couldn't bring himself to visit her. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it. Every time he saw her he would only think of how he had found her. He'd want to go back to the Capitol, find every Peacekeeper who handled her, and torture them mercilessly.

Plutarch had to scold him about how selfish he was being before he finally got the nerve to go and see her.

Haymitch stared at her hospital room door. _She's alive. She's okay. She's really in there_. He sucked in a breath and walked in her room. She was lying on her bed, hooked up only to her heart monitor. She made eye contact with him. He heard her heart rate kick up a notch. It filled him with an overpowering relief. _She's alive_.

He closed the door and leaned back against it. They regarded each other with blank looks, neither betraying what the other was thinking.

They continued to watch each other as he walked over and sat in the chair next to her bed—grey eyes meeting navy ones. "Haymitch."

He nodded and gulped. "Hey there, sweetheart."

Effie blinked. "You're really not dead?"

He softened. _Eff, what did they do to you_? "No. No, I'm really not dead."

Effie let out a long breath. She turned her hand over, palm facing the ceiling.

Haymitch scooted his chair closer to her bed. Carefully, hesitantly, he put his hand in hers. As soon as their skin touched, he roughly pulled her to him, holding her as tightly as he had that night he had his nightmare. Effie returned the hug with equal force. They became one in their embrace—not a space could be found between them. _Heaven above, he missed her touch_. She began to sob hysterically.

Haymitch rubbed soothing circles in her back, his heart breaking and healing simultaneously. After all this time, he was finally holding her in his arms again. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to let her go. "Sh, sweetheart," he whispered. "I'm right here." Haymitch buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent.

Haymitch let himself cry with her. It was silent, but he cried all the same. His tears fell hot and fast, soaking into her skin and metallic hair. He was so happy—so euphorically happy—to have her back. To have her alive, safe, present.

Effie's sobs worsened, making Haymitch hold her tighter. "I'm right here, Effie. It's alright. It's over now."

He hoped with everything in him that it was.

* * *

Haymitch didn't return to visit her after that. It was stupid to open himself up like that. He didn't know what would happen once the war ended. For all he knew, she would return to the Capitol. He wouldn't ask her to follow him wherever he went, and he would never follow her to the Capitol.

After all that happened, they were still too different. No matter what they would never work out. It was high time he accepted that.

* * *

The war was finally over. Coin was dead. Snow was dead. Paylor was President. Katniss was deemed mentally unstable and sent back to District Twelve.

Along with Haymitch.

And Effie was returning to the Capitol.

* * *

They didn't say goodbye to each other. It was too painful.

* * *

"Katniss and I are getting married next week."

"Well, whoop-dee-freaking-doo for you, kid. Want me to break out the wine? I've got plenty."

"Effie's going to be there."

"…Then you'll send her my regards whether I give them or not."

"You're really not going to come? Haymitch, it's been three years."

"They've been peaceful. I'm not about to ruin them by listening to that woman's screeching."

"Just admit you're in love with her, Haymitch."

"Look, kid, you don't know what you're—"

"Uh, yeah, I think I do. And I know that with every day that passes, you're killing her inside a little bit more. You and Katniss are so much alike. Haymitch, _nothing_ is going to happen to her. No one is going to come after you for loving someone. Panem is at peace, and you can move on with your life."

"You know I'm not the only party in this, right?"

"You know just as well as I do how much she loves you. So why don't you just admit you miss her, swallow your pride, and tell her you love her? She'll be at my house at eleven o'clock sharp this Friday. I'll see you there."

* * *

Haymitch leaned against the window sill in Peeta's guest room in which Effie would be staying. He had a bottle of rum next to his right hand, but he tried to limit his intake. He wasn't going to see her for the first time in years while plastered. He'll drink only enough to calm his nerves.

It was amazing how after going through the Second Quarter Quell, mentoring for twenty-five years, helping lead a Rebellion, and surviving a war, he was feeling a large amount of anxiety at the mere thought of seeing Effie again.

Violet would laugh mercilessly at him. Haymitch chuckled and shook his head. _You'd like her, Vi. She's strong. You'd approve_. She really would. Violet and Effie would probably take turns ganging up on him.

Haymitch could hear her voice ring through the house from downstairs. His stomach constricted in anticipation. He never thought he'd be happy to hear a Capitol accent. At the moment, it was the most wonderful thing he's heard in a long time.

"Oh," came Effie's startled voice.

Haymitch turned. His heart lurched. She was staring at him wide-eyed. She was still colorful, but her outfit seemed to be toned down some. Her shoes weren't death traps, at least. Her makeup was there, but it wasn't so heavy. It was as colorful as her outfit, but it wasn't caked on. It was natural as Effie would ever get—for now, anyway. But her hair—her glorious, silver hair—was down and free.

She was still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. "Hey, princess." He jerked his head to the side, gesturing her to join him at the window.

She complied. "I'm sorry, do I have the wrong room?" she asked when she reached him.

"Nope. This is yours."

"Okay, then."

They both looked out the window. It faced the gates to the Victor's Village. Through them, you could see the thriving District bustling with newcomers and veterans. People were talking, and children were laughing. It showed the promise of a bright future ahead for the New Panem. But it didn't settle the awkward silence between the two former partners.

"So how have you been?" he asked as he took a drink. He wasn't able to help himself.

Effie glanced at Haymitch. Her lips twitched. There were some things that would never change. "I've been well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Good. I'm raising geese."

Effie snorted. It surprised him. She would normally never make such an unladylike sound. It filled him with hope. It meant she was still comfortable around him. "Geese?" she asked in disbelief.

"Eh…yeah. They kind of just don't leave me alone." Haymitch gave her a crooked smile. "Sort of like you."

Effie raised her eyebrow. "Did you just compare me to poultry, Mr. Abernathy?"

He shrugged. "You both make an awful lot of noise. Seems fitting to me." He loved how easy it was to fall back into teasing Effie. It was like breathing.

"Hmph. Well." Effie returned to staring out the window. They were silent for a few minutes.

Haymitch looked at Effie's hair. It was glistening in the sunlight. "I see you ditched the wigs."

Effie automatically brought a hand up to her uncovered hair. "I did, yes."

"Good." Haymitch tugged a piece of her hair. "I always liked you better without them." He took another drink. "I've always wondered. Why silver?"

She remained silent.

He raised an eyebrow. Did she hear him? "Effie?"

She took a deep breath. It couldn't possibly be _that_ bad. "Because…" She blushed like a teenager. He relished that he could see the color rise in her cheeks. "Because it matched your eyes." She refused to gauge his reaction.

He blinked at her in surprise. It was such an innocent statement, so like Effie. It was the only confirmation he needed. He ran his fingers through her silver tresses. Still silken as ever. "It's nice."

She turned and smiled at him. His face was uncharacteristically tender. "Thank you." She leaned into his touch. He didn't draw away this time. He wasn't about to let her go again. If it was possible, he was going to keep her here for the rest of their lives. "I've missed you, you miserable drunk."

He chuckled and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart."

* * *

**Oh my goodness!**

**Longest thing I've ever written. I hope it turned out well. Hopefully Haymitch stayed in character. :)**

**I want to take the time to thank all of my readers, those who reviewed, favorited, alerted, etc. You've made my first experience writing Hayffie such a great one. I didn't expect such a positive response, but I got it! I couldn't be more grateful to all of you. God has blessed me greatly! I wouldn't even be able to write this if not for Him. So thank you all! I certainly hope you liked this installment as much as Effie's.**

**Fun Facts: The title "Silver Lining" comes from the phrase, "Every cloud has a silver lining" (also the inspiration for my username). Essentially, the Hunger Games were Haymitch's thundercloud and Effie was that small sliver of light that kept him somewhat sane. Kennet means "born of fire." Poppy's name was ALMOST Rosemary and Azar (means "healer"). Last installment was 77 pages, this was 111. Interesting, no? Haymitch's talk with Poppy was orginially with Chaff. Somehow, Mrs. Everdeen came into my head and she wouldn't leave. I had a "deleted scene" in which Chloris came to visit Effie during one of the Hunger Games. She was going to tell Haymitch about Effie being his number one fan during the Second Quarter Quell. It didn't make it in.**

**So I hope you enjoyed reading the final installment of Argentium. I had a blast writing it. If any of you have any questions at all, please don't hesitate to message me on my tumblr (name in profile). If you don't have a tumblr, PM me!**

**Please review and tell me what you liked/disliked/etc.!**

******Again, thank you all SOOOO much! I love you all! -mwah!-**

**-Lullaby-**


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